^liii 


liiii 


liiiliii 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

David  Freedman 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/billnyesredbookOOnyeb 


BDGAR    WILSON    NVK 
(Hill  Nyb^ 


BILL  NYE'S 
RED  BOOK 


EDGAR  WILSON  NYE. 


This  is  the  fourth  book  that  I  have  published  in  response 
to  the  clamorous  appeals  of  the  public.  I  had  long  hoped 
to  publish  a  larger,  better,  and  if  possible  a  redder  book 
than  the  first;  one  that  would  contain  my  better  thoughts; 
thoughts  that  I  had  thought  when  I  was  feeling  well ; 
thoughts  that  I  had  omitted  when  my  thinker  was  rear- 
ing up  on  its  hind  feet,  if  I  may  be  allowed  that  term; 
thoughts  that  sprang  forth  with  a  wild  whoop  and  de- 
manded recognition.  This  book  is  the  result  of  that 
hope  and  that  wish.     It  is  may  greatest  and  best  book. 

Bill  Nye. 


Over  one  hundred  and  fifty  hut^.c.ous  drawings 

by  J.  H.  Smith,  formerly  with 

Judgj. 


THOMFSON  &  THOMAS 

CHICAGO 
\  9'  0  6 


COPYRIGHT  1886 

BY 

EDGAR  W.  NYE, 


COPYRIGHT  1891 

BT 

EDGAR  W.  NYE. 
COPYRIGHT  1906 

BY 

THOMPSON  &  THOMAS. 


v.. 


^ 


DIRECTIONS. 


This  book  is  not  designed  specially  for  any  one  class  of 
people.  It  is  for  all.  It  is  a  universal  repository  of  thought. 
Some  of  my  best  thoughts  are  contained  in  this  book.  When- 
ever I  would  think  a  thought  that  I  thought  had  better  re- 
main unthought,  I  would  omit  it  from  this  book.  For  that 
reason  the  book  is  not  so  large  as  I  had  intended.  When  a 
man  coldly  and  dispassionately  goes  at  it  to  eradicate  from  his 
work  all  that  may  not  come  up  to  his  standard  of  merit,  he 
can  make  a  large  volume  shrink  till  it  is  no  thicker  than  the 
bank  book  of  an  outspoken  clergyman. 

This  is  the  fourth  book  that  I  have  published  in  response 
to  the  clamorous  appeals  of  the  public.  Whenever  the  public 
got  to  clamoring  too  loudly  for  a  new  book  from  me  and  it 
got  so  noisy  that  I  could  not  ignore  it  any  more,  I  would  issue 
another  volume.  The  first  was  a  red  book,  succeeded  by  a 
dark  blue  volume,  after  which  I  published  a  green  book,  all 
of  which  were  kindly  received  by  the  American  people,  and, 
under  the  present  yielding  system  of  international  copyright, 
greedily  snapped   up  by  some  of  the  tottering  dynasties. 

But  I  had  long  hoped  to  publish  a  larger,  better  and,  if 
possible,  a  redder  book  than  the  first;  one  that  would  contain 
my  I>ettcr  thoughts,  thoughts  that  I  had  thought  when  I  was 
feeling  v/ell ;  thoughts  that  I  had  emitted  while  my  thinker 
was  rearing  up  on  its  hind  feet,  if  I  may  be  allowed  that  term ; 
thoughts  that  sprang  forth  with  a  wild  whoop  and  demanded 
recognition. 

This  book  is  the  result  of  that  hope  and  that  wish.  It  is 
my  greatest  and  best  book.  It  is  the  one  that  will  live  for 
weeks  after  other  books  have  passed  away.  Even  to  those  who 
cannot  read,  it  will  come  like  a  benison  when  there  is  no 
benison  in  the  house.  To  the  ignorant,  the  pictures  will  be 
pleasing.     The   wise   will  revel   in   its   wisdom,   and  the  house- 


DIRECTIONS 

kecp«r  will  find  that  with  it  she  may  easily  emphasize  a  state- 
ment or  kill  a  cockroach. 

The  range  of  subjects  treated  in  this  book  is  wonderful,  even 
to  me.  It  is  a  library  of  universal  knowledge,  and  the  facts  con- 
tained in  it  are  different  from  any  other  facts  now  in  use.  I 
have  carefully  guarded,  all  the  way  through,  against  using  hack- 
neyed and  moth-eaten  facts.  As  a  result,  I  am  able  to  come 
before  the  people  with  a  set  of  new  and  attractive  statements, 
so  fresh  and  so  crisp  that  an  unkind  word  would  wither  them 
in  a  moment 

I  believe  there  is  nothing  more  to  add,  except  that  I  most 
heartily  endorse  the  book.  It  has  been  carefully  read  over  by 
the  proof-reader  and  myself,  so  we  do  not  ask  the  public  to 
do  anything  that  we  were  not  willing  to  do  ourselves. 

BILL  NYE. 


CONTENTS. 


My  School  Days 15 

Recollections  of  Noah  Webster 18 

To   Her    Maj  esty 22 

Habits   of  a   Literary    Man 30 

A    Father's   Letter 35 

Archimedes  39 

To  the  President  Elect 43 

Anatomy    47 

Mr.  Sweeney's  Cat 53 

The   Heyday  of  Life 58 

They   Fell 62 

Second   Letter  to  the   President 66 

Milling  in  Pompeii 72 

Broncho    Sam 79 

How  Evolution   Evolves 84 

Hours    With    Great    Men 90 

Concerning    Coroners 95 

Down  East  Rum 100 

Railway    Etiquette 105 

B.   Franklin,   Deceased 109 

Life  Insurance  as  a   Health  Restorer 117 

The  Opium  Habit 120 

More    Paternal    Correspondence 124 

Twombley's    Tale 130 

On    Cyclones 136 

The  Arabian  Language 140 

Verona  144 

A  Great  Upheaval 151 

The  Weeping  Woman 156 

The    Crops 163 

Literary  Freaks    168 

A   Father's   Advice   to   His    Son 173 

Eccentricity  in   Lunch    178 

Insomnia  in  Domestic  Animals 184 

Along  Lake  Superior 189 


CONTENTS 

I  Tried  Milling ^95 

Our   Forf fathers 2a 

In    Acknowledgment 206 

Preventing    a    Scandal 21 1 

About    Portraits 215 

The  Old  South 221 

Knights  of  the  Pen 227 

The  Wild  Cow 232 

Spinal  Meningitis 235 

Skimming  the   Milky   Way 240 

A    Thrilling    Experience 254 

Catching  a   Buffalo 259 

John    Adams 265 

The    Wail   of   a    Wife 271 

Bunker    Hill 277 

A  Lumber  Camp 283 

My  Lecture   Abroad 288 

The    Miner    at    Home 292 

An  Operatic    Entertainment 298 

Dogs  and  Dog  Days 304 

Christopher    Columbus 3^9 

Accepting   the   Laramie    Postofiice 3^4 

A    Journalistic   Tenderfoot 3^7 

The    Amateur   Carpenter 323 

The  Average  Hen 327 

Woodtick   William's  Story 332 

In    Washington i37 

My   Experience  as  an   Agriculturist 342 

A  New  Autograph  Album 34^ 

A  Resign 353 

My  Mine 359 

Mush   and    Melody 3^3 

7  he  Blase  Young  Man 3^7 

History    of    liabylon 373 

L<>.  rly    Horrors 370 

The  Rile  of  a  Mad  Dog 386 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Advertising  the  Enterprise  23 

Queen    Vic    Reading    25 

The   Accompaniment    28 

Retributive  Justice   3^ 

A  Dearth  of  Soap  in  the  Laundry  and  Bath-Room 44 

Studying    Anatomy    48 

At  First  She  Regarded  it  as  a  Joke 54 

Working   for  Reform    67 

Two   Old   Romans    74 

Ancient  Roman  Miller   17 

A  Broncho  Eruption    80 

An  Encounter  with  the  Butter  91 

The    Buttonhole    loi 

A  Deadly  Onslaught   "O 

Stopping   His    Paper    112 

How's   Trade?    US 

Protected  by  Life  Insurance   118 

Rough  on  the  Old  Cat   126 

Waiting  to  Be  Picked   138 

The   Odors  of  Verona    145 

The  Next  Morning    146 

Enjoying  Himself  at  the  Dance   165 

His  Motto   170 

The   Antique   Lunch    179 

Exciting   Public   Curiosity    185 

He  Made  It  An  Object  for  Me  to  Go I97 

How  to  Win  Aflfeetiori  207 

A  Nose  on  the  Bias    216 

Assorted   Physiognomy    218 

Mr.   Franklin   Experiments    222 

The  Ruin  229 

Tycho  Brahe  at  Work   241 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

A  Cold   Day    ^45 

A  Nightly    Vigil    250 

An   Unequal    Match    261 

Presidential    Simplicity    267 

For  Revenue  Only   274 


I  Took  a  Pie 


286 


I   Have  Forgotten  His  First  Remark 295 

Making  Himself  Useful   30I 

A  New  Office  Outfit   3i5 

Communing  With    Nature    321 

The  Result  of  Patience  330 

Winning  Their  Young  Love   333 

They  Spoke  Jceringly 344 

Strict  Attention  to  Business   353 

He  is  Nix  Bonum  370 

He  was  Greatly  Annoyed  381 

This  is  Jesse  James  2^i 


Bill  Nyes  Red  Book. 


Bill  Nye's  Red  Book 


MY  SCHOOL  DAYS. 

Looking  over  my  own  school  days,  there  are 
so  many  things  that  I  would  rather  not  tell, 
that  it  will  take  very  little  time  and  space  for 
me  to  use  in  telling  what  I  am  willing  that  the 
carping  public  should  know  about  my  early 
history. 

I  began  my  educational  career  in  a  log 
school  house.  Finding  that  other  great  men 
had  done  that  way,  I  began  early  to  look 
around  me  for  a  log  school  house  where  I  could 
begin  in  a  small  way  to  soak  my  system  full 
of  hard  words  and  information. 

For  a  time  I  learned  very  rapidly.  Learn- 
ing came  to  mc  with  very  little  effort  at  first. 
I  would  read  my  lesson  over  once  or  twice  and 
then  take  my  place  in  the  class.  It  never  botli- 
ered  me  to  recite  my  lesson  and  so  I  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  class.  I  could  stick  my  big  toe 
through  a  knot-hole  in  the  floor  and  work  out 
the  most  difficult  problem.     This  became  at 

15 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

last  a  habit  with  me.     With  my  knot-hole  I 
was  safe,  without  it  I  would  hesitate. 

A  large  red-headed  boy,  with  feet  like  a  sum- 
mer squash  and  eyes  like  those  of  a  dead  cod- 
fish, was  my  rival.  He  soon  discovered  that  I 
was  very  dependent  on  that  knot-hole,  and  so 
one  night  he  stole  into  the  school  house  and 
phigged  up  the  knot-hole,  so  that  I  could  not 
work  my  toe  into  it  and  thus  refresh  my  mem- 
ory. 

Then  the  large  red-headed  boy,  who  had  not 
formed  the  knot-hole  habit,  went  to  the  head 
of  the  class  and  remained  there. 

After  I  grew  larger,  my  parents  sent  me  to 
a  military  school.  That  is  where  I  got  the  fine 
mihtary  learning  and  stately  carriage  that  I 
still  wear. 

My  room  was  on  the  second  floor,  and  it  was 
very  difficult  for  me  to  leave  it  at  night,  be- 
cause tlie  turnkey  locked  us  up  at  9  o'clock 
every  evening.  Still,  I  used  to  get  out  once  in 
awhile  and  wander  around  in  the  starlight.  I 
do  not  know  yet  why  I  did  il,  but  I  presume  it 
was  a  kind  of  somnambulism.  I  would  go  to 
bed  thinking  so  intently  of  my  lessons  that  I 
would  get  up  and  wander  away,  sometimes  for 
miles,  in  the  solemn  night. 

16 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

One  night  I  awoke  and  found  myself  in  a 
watermelon  patch.  I  was  never  so  ashamed 
in  my  life.  It  is  a  very  serious  thing  to  be 
awakened  so  rudely  out  of  a  sound  sleep,  by  a 
bull  dog,  to  find  yourself  in  the  watermelon 
vineyard  of  a  man  with  whom  you  are  not 
acquainted.  I  was  not  on  terms  of  social  in- 
timacy with  this  man  or  his  dog.  They  did 
not  belong  to  our  set.  \A'e  had  never  been 
thrown  together  before. 

After  that  I  was  called  the  great  somnam- 
bulist and  men  who  had  watermelon  conserva- 
tories shunned  me.  But  it  cured  me  of  my 
somnambulism.  I  have  never  tried  to  som- 
nambule  any  more  since  that  time. 

There  are  other  little  incidents  of  my  school 
days  that  come  trooping  up  in  my  memory  at 
this  moment,  but  they  were  not  startling  in 
their  nature.  Mine  is  but  the  historv  of  one 
who  struggled  on  year  after  year,  trying  to  do 
better,  but  most  always  failing  to  connect. 
The  boys  of  Boston  would  do  well  to  studv 
carefully  my  record  and  then — do  differently. 


17 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  NOAH  WEBSTER. 

Mr.  Webster,  no  doubt,  had  the  best  com- 
mand of  language  of  any  American  author 
prior  to  our  day.  Those  who  have  read  his 
ponderous  but  rather  disconnected  romance 
known  as  "Webster's  Unabridged  Dictionary, 
or  How  One  Word  Led  on  to  Another,"  will 
agree  with  me  that  he  was  smart.  Noah  never 
lacked  for  a  word  by  which  to  express  himself. 
He  was  a  brainy  man  and  a  good  speller. 

It  would  ill  become  me  at  this  late  day  to 
criticise  Mr.  Webster's  great  work — a  work 
that  is  now  in  almost  every  library,  school- 
room and  counting  house  in  the  land.  It  is  a 
great  book.  I  do  believe  that  had  Mr.  Web- 
ster lived  he  would  have  been  equally  fair  in 
his  criticism  of  my  books. 

I  hate  to  compare  my  own  works  with  those 
of  Mr.  Webster,  because  it  may  seem  egotis- 
tical in  me  to  point  out  the  good  points  in  my 
literary  labors ;  but  I  have  often  heard  it  said, 
and  so  do  not  state  it  solely  upon  my  own  re- 
sponsibility, that  Mr.  Webster's  book  docs  not 
retain  the  interest  of  the  reader  all  the  way 
through. 

i8 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

He  has  tried  to  introduce  too  many  char- 
acters, and  so  we  cannot  follow  them  all  the 
way  through.  It  is  a  good  book  to  pick  up  and 
while  away  an  idle  hour  with,  perhaps,  but  no 
one  would  cling  to  it  at  night  till  the  fire  went 
out,  chained  to  the  thrilling  plot  and  the  glow- 
ing career  of  its  hero. 

Therein  consists  the  great  difTerence  be- 
tween Mr,  Webster  and  myself.  A  friend  of 
mine  at  Sing  Sing  once  wrote  me  that  from 
the  moment  he  got  hold  of  my  book,  he  never 
left  his  room  till  he  finished  it.  He  seemed 
chained  to  the  spot,  he  said,  and  if  you  can't 
believe  a  convict,  who  is  entirely  out  of  poli- 
tics, who  in  the  name  of  George  Washington 
can  you  believe?    • 

Mr.  Webster  was  most  assuredly  a  brilliant 
writer,  and  I  have  discovered  in  his  later  edi- 
tions 118,000  words,  no  two  of  which  are  alike. 
This  shows  great  fluency  and  versatility,  it  is 
true,  but  we  need  something  else.  The  reader 
waits  in  vain  to  be  thrilled  by  the  author's  won- 
derful word  painting.  There  is  not  a  thrill  in 
the  whole  tome.  I  had  heard  so  much  of  Mr. 
Webster  that  when  I  read  his  book  I  confess 
I  was  disappointed.  It  is  cold,  methodical  and 
dispassionate  in  the  extreme. 

19 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

As  I  said,  however,  it  is  a  good  book  to  pick 
up  for  the  purpose  of  whiling  away  an  idle  mo- 
ment, and  no  one  should  start  out  on  a  long 
journey  without  Mr.  Webster's  tale  in  his 
pocket.  It  has  broken  the  monotony  of  many 
a  tedious  trip  for  me. 

Mr.  Webster's  "Speller"  was  a  work  of  less 
pretentions,  perhaps,  and  yet  it  had  an  im- 
mense sale.     Eight  years  ago  this  book  had 
reached  a  sale  of  40,000,000,  and  yet  it  had  the 
same  grave  defect.    It  was  disconnected,  cold, 
prosy  and  dull.    I  read  it  for  years,  and  at  last 
became  a  close  student  of  Mr.  Webster's  style, 
yet  I  never  found  but  one  thing  in  this  book, 
for  which  there  seems  to  have  been  such  a  per- 
fect stampede,  that  was  even  ordinarily  inter- 
esting, and  that  was  a  little  gem.     It  was  so 
thrilling  in  its  details,  and  so  diametrically  dif- 
ferent from  Mr.  Webster's  style,  that  I  have 
often  wondered  who  he  got  to  write  it  for  him. 
It  related  to  the  discovery  of  a  boy  by  an  eld- 
erly gentleman,  in  the  crotch  of  an  ancestral 
apple  tree,  and  the  feeling  of  bitterness  and 
animosity  that  sprung  up  at  the  time  between 
the  boy  and  the  elderly  gentleman. 

Though  I  have  been  a  close  student  of  Mr. 
Webster  for  years,  I  am  free  to  say,  and  I  do 

20 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

not  wish  to  do  an  injustice  to  a  great  man  in 
doing  so,  that  his  ideas  of  literature  and  my 
own  are  entirely  dissimilar.  Possibly  his  book 
has  had  a  little  larger  sale  than  mine,  but  that 
makes  no  difference.  When  I  write  a  book  it 
must  engage  the  interest  of  the  reader,  and 
show  some  plot  to  it.  It  must  not  be  jerky  in 
its  style  and  scattering  in  its  statements. 

I  know  it  is  a  great  temptation  to  write  a 
book  that  will  sell,  but  we  should  have  a  higher 
object  than  that. 

I  do  not  wish  to  do  an  injustice  to  a  man  who 
has  done  so  much  for  the  world,  and  one  who 
could  spell  the  longest  word  without  hesita- 
tion, but  I  speak  of  these  things  just  as  I  would 
expect  people  to  criticise  my  work.  If  we  as- 
pire to  monkey  with  the  literati  of  our  day  we 
must  expect  to  be  criticised.  That's  the  way 
I  look  at  it. 

P.  S. — I  might  also  state  thit  Noah  Webster 
was  a  member  of  the  Legislature  of  Massa- 
chusetts at  one  time,  and  though  I  ought  not 
to  throw  it  up  to  him  at  this  date,  I  think  it  is 
nothing  more  than  right  that  the  public  should 
knoAV  the  truth. 


i»t 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


TO  HER  MAJESTY. 

To  Queen  Victoria,  Regina  Dei  Gracia  and 
acting-  mother-in-law  on  the  side: 

Dear  Madame.— Your  most  gracious  majes- 
ty will  no  doubt  be  surprised  to  hear  from  me 
after  my  long  silence.  One  reason  that  I  have 
not  written  for  some  time  is  that  I  had  hoped 
to  see  you  ere  this,  and  not  because  I  had 
grown  cold.  I  desire  to  congratulate  you  at 
this  time  upon  your  great  success  as  a  mother- 
in-law,  and  your  very  exemplary  career  so- 
cially. As  a  queen  you  have  given  universal 
satisfaction,  and  your  family  have  married 
well. 

But  I  desired  more  especially  to  write  you  in 
relation  to  another  matter.  We  are  struggling 
here  in  America  to  establish  an  authors'  inter- 
national copyright  arrangement,  whereby  the 
authors  gf  ,all  civilized  nations  may  be  pro- 
tected in  .their  rights  to  the  profits  of  their  lit- 
erary labor,  and  the  movement  so  far  has  met 
with  generous  encouragement.  As  an  author 
we  desire  your  aid  and  endorsement.  Could 
you  assi^  us?  We  are  giving  this  seaso'n  a 
series  6i  authbrs'  readin2:s  in  New  York  ib  aid 

i2 


Advertising  the   Enterprise. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

in  prosecuting  the  work,  and  we  would  like  to 
know  whether  we  could  not  depend  upon  you 
to  take  a  part  in  these  readings,  rendering 
selections  from  your  late  work. 

I  assure  your  most  gracious  majesty  that 
you  would  meet  some  of  our  best  literary  peo- 
ple while  here,  and  no  pains  would  be  spared 
to  make  your  visit  a  pleasant  one,  aside  from 
the  reading  itself.  We  would  advertise  your 
appearance  extensively  and  get  out  a  first-class 
audience  on  the  occasion  of  your  debut  here. 

An  effort  would  be  made  to  provide  passes 
for  yourself,  and  reduced  rates,  I  think,  could 
be  secured  for  yourself  and  suite  at  the  hotels. 
Of  course  you  could  do  as  you  thought  best 
about  bringing  suite,  however.  Some  of  us 
travel  with  our  suites  and  some  do  not.  I  gen- 
erally leave  my  suite  at  home,  myself. 

You  would  not  need  to  make  any  special 
changes  as  to  costume  for  the  occasion.  We 
try  to  make  it  informal,  so  far  as  possible,  and 
though  some  of  us  wear  full  dress  we  do  not 
make  that  obligatory  on  those  who  take  a  part 
in  the  exercises.  If  you  decide  to  Wear  your 
evcry-day  reigning  clothes  it  will  not  excite 
comment  on  thfc  part  of  our  literati.    We  do 

*4 


Queen  Vic.  Reading. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

not  judge  an  author  or  authoress  by  his  or  her 
clothes. 

You  will  readily  see  that  this  will  afford  you 
an  opportunity  to  appear  before  some  of  the 
best  people  of  New  York,  and  at  the  same  time 
you  will  aid  in  a  deserving  enterprise. 

It  will  also  promote  the  sale  of  your  book. 

Perhaps  you  have  all  the  royalty  you  want 
aside  from  what  you  may  receive  from  the  sale 
of  your  works,  but  every  author  feels  a  par- 
donable pride  in  getting  his  books  into  every 
household. 

I  would  assure  your  most  gracious  majesty 
that  your  reception  here  as  an  authoress  will 
in  no  way  suffer  because  you  are  an  unnatural- 
ized foreigner.  Any  alien  who  feels  a  frater- 
nal interest  in  the  international  advancement 
of  thought  and  the  universal  encouragement  of 
the  good,  the  true  and  the  beautiful  in  litera- 
ture, will  be  welcome  on  these  shores. 

This  is  a  broad  land,  and  we  aim  to  be  a 
broad  and  cosmopolitan  people.  Literature 
and  free,  willing  genius  are  not  hemmed  in  by 
State  or  national  lines.  They  sprout  up  and 
blossom  under  tropical  skies  no  less  than  be- 
neath the  frigid  aurara  borealis  of  the  frozen 
Korth.    We  hail  true  merit  just  as  heartily  and 

26 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Uproariously  on  a  throne  as  we  would  any- 
where else.  In  fact,  it  is  more  deserving,  if 
possible,  for  one  who  has  never  tried  it  little 
knows  how  difficult  it  is  to  sit  on  a  hard  throne 
all  day»and  write*  well.  We  are  to  recognize 
struggling  genius  wherever  it  may  crop  out. 
It  is  no  small  matter  for  an  almost  unknown 
monarch  to  reign  all  day  and  then  write  an 
article  for  the  press  or  a  chapter  for  a  serial 
story,  only,  perhaps,  to  have  it  returned  by  the 
publishers.  All  these  things  are  drawbacks  to 
a  literary  life,  that  we  here  in  America  know 
little  of. 

I  hope  your  most  gracious  majesty  will  de- 
cide to  come,  and  that  you  will  pardon  this 
long  letter.  It  will  do  you  good  to  get  out 
this  way  for  a  few  weeks,  and  I  earnestly  hope 
that  you  will  decide  to  lock  up  the  house  and 
come  prepared  to  m^ake  quite  a  visit.  We  have 
some  real  good  authors  here  now  in  America, 
and  we  are  not  ashamed  to  show  them  to  any 
one.  They  are  not  only  smart,  but  they  are 
well  behaved  and  know  how  to  appear  in  com- 
pany. We  generally  read  selections  from  our 
own  works,  and  can  have  n  brass  band  to  play 
between  the  selections,  if  thought  best.  For 
myself,  I  prefer  to  have  a  full  brass  band  ac- 

27 


Th«  Aooompaniment. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

company  me  while  I  read.    The  audience  also 
approves  of  this  plan. 

We  have  been  having  some  very  hot  weath- 
er here  for  the  past  week,  but  it  is  now  cooler. 
Farmers  are  getting  in  their  crops  in  good 
shape,  but  wheat  is  still  low  in  price,  and  cran- 
berries are  souring  on  the  vines.  All  of  our 
canned  red  raspberries  worked  last  week,  and 
we  had  to  can  them  over  again.  Mr.  Riel,  who 
went  into  the  rebellion  business  in  Canada  last 
winter,  will  be  hanged  in  September  if  it  don't 
rain.  It  will  be  his  first  appearance  on  the  gal- 
lows, and  quite  a  number  of  our  leading  Amer- 
ican criminals  are  going  over  to  see  his  debut. 

Hoping  to  hear  from  you  by  return  mail  or 
prepaid  cablegram,  I  beg  leave  to  remain  your 
most  gracious  and  indulgent  majesty's  hum- 
ble and  obedient  servant. 

Bill  Nye. 


29 


BILL  NYES  RED  BOOK 


HABITS  OF  A  LITERARY  MAN. 

The  editor  of  an  Eastern  health  magazine, 
having  asked  for  information  relative  to  the 
habits,  hours  of  work,  and  style  and  frequency 
of  feed  adopted  by  literary  men,  and  several 
parties  having  responded  who  were  no  more 
essentially  saturated  with  literature  than  I 
am,  I  now  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  reveal  the 
true  inwardness  of  my  literary  life,  so  that 
boys,  who  may  yearn  to  follow  in  my  footsteps 
and  wear  a  laurel  wreath  the  year  round  in 
place  of  a  hat,  may  know  what  the  personal 
habits  of  a  literary  party  are. 

I  rise  from  bed  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing, leaving  my  couch  not  because  I  am  dis- 
satisfied with  it,  but  because  I  cannot  carry  it 
with  me  during  the  day. 

I  then  seat  myself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and 
devote  a  few  moments  to  thought.  Literary 
men  who  have  never  set  aside  a  few  moments 
on  rising  for  thought  will  do  well  to  try  it. 

I  then  insert  myself  into  a  pair  of  middle- 
aged  pantaloons.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
girls  who  may  have  a  literary  tendency  will  find 
little  to  interest  them  here. 

30 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Other  clothing  is  added  to  the  above  from 
time  to  time.  I  then  bathe  myself.  Still  this 
is  not  absolutely  essential  to  a  literary  life. 
Others  who  do  not  do  so  have  been  equally 
successful. 

Some  literary  people  bathe  before  dressing. 

I  then  go  down  stairs  and  out  to  the  barn, 
where  I  feed  the  horse.  Some  literary  men 
feel  above  taking  care  of  a  horse,  because  there 
is  really  nothing  in  common  between  the  care 
of  a  horse  and  literature,  but  simplicity  is  my 
watchword.  T.  Jefferson  would  have  to  rise 
early  in  the  day  to  eclipse  me  in  simplicity.  I 
wish  I  had  as  many  dollars  as  I  have  got  sim- 
plicity. 

I  then  go  in  to  breakfast.  This  meal  con- 
sists almost  wholly  of  food.  I  am  passionate- 
ly fond  of  food,  and  I  may  truly  say,  with  my 
hand  on  my  heart,  that  I  owe  much  of  my 
great  success  in  life  to  this  inward  craving, 
this  constant  yearning  for  something  better. 

During  this  meal  I  frequently  converse  with 
my  family.  I  do  not  feel  above  my  family;  at 
least,  if  I  do,  I  try  to  conceal  it  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. Buckwheat  pancakes  in  a  heated  state, 
with  maple  syrup  on  the  upper  side,  are  ex- 
tremely   conducive    to    literature.      Nothing 

31 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

jerks  the  mental  faculties  around  with  greater 
rapidity  than  buckwheat  pancakes. 

After  breakfast  the  time  is  put  in  to  good 
advantage  looking  forward  to  the  time  when 
dinner  will  be  ready.  From  8  to  lo  A.  M., 
however,  I  frequently  retire  to  my  private  li- 
brary hot-bed  in  the  hay  mow,  and  write  1,200 
words  in  my  forthcoming  book,  the  price  of 
which  will  be  $2.50  in  cloth  and  $4  with  Rus- 
sia back. 

I  then  play  Copenhagen  with  some  little 
girls  21  years  of  age,  who  live  near  by,  and  of 
whom  I  am  passionately  fond. 

After  that  I  dig  some  worms,  with  a  view 
to  angling.  I  then  angle.  After  this  I  return 
home,  waiting  until  dusk,  however,  as  I  do  not 
like  to  attract  attention.  Nothing  is  more  dis- 
tasteful to  a  truly  good  man  of  wonderful  lit- 
erary acquirements,  and  yet  with  singular 
modesty,  than  the  coarse  and  rude  scrutiny  of 
the  vulgar  herd. 

In  winter  I  do  not  angle.  I  read  the  "Pirate 
Prince"  or  the  "Missourian's  Mash,"  or  some 
other  work,  not  so  much  for  the  plot  as  the 
style,  that  I  may  get  my  mind  into  correct 
channels  of  thought.  I  then  play  "old  sledge" 
in  a  rambling  sort  of  manner.     I  sometimes 

32 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Spend  an  evening  at  home,  in  order  to  excite 
remark  and  draw  attention  to  my  wonderful 
eccentricity. 

I  do  not  use  alcohol  in  any  form,  if  I  know 
it,  though  sometimes  I  am  basely  deceived  by 
those  who  know  of  my  peculiar  prejudice,  and 
who  do  it,  too,  because  they  enjoy  watching 
my  odd  and  amusing  antics  at  the  time. 

Alcohol  should  be  avoided  entirely  by  lit- 
erary workers,  especially  young  women.  There 
can  be  no  more  pitiable  sight  to  the  tender 
hearted  than  a  young  woman  of  marked  ability 
writing  an  obituary  poem  while  under  the  in- 
fluence of  Hquor. 

I  knew  a  young  man  who  was  a  good  writ- 
er. His  penmanship  was  very  good,  indeed. 
He  once  wTote  an  article  for  the  press  while 
under  the  influence  of  liquor.  He  sent  it  to  the 
editor,  who  returned  it  at  once  with  a  cold  and 
cruel  letter,  every  line  of  which  was  a  stab. 
The  letter  came  at  a  time  when  he  was  full  of 
remorse. 

He  tossed  up  a  cent  to  see  whether  he  should 
blow  out  his  brains  or  go  into  the  ready-made 
clothing  business.  The  coin  decided  that  he 
should  die  by  his  own  hand,  but  his  head  ached 
so  that  he  didn't  feel  like  shooting  into  it.    So 

33 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

he  went  into  the  ready-made  clothing  busi- 
ness, and  now  he  pays  taxes  on  $75,000,  so  he 
is  probably  worth  $150,000.  This,  of  course, 
salves  over  his  wounded  heart,  but  he  often 
says  to  me  that  he  might  have  been  in  the  lit- 
erary business  to-day  if  he  had  let  liquor  alone. 


34 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


A  FATHER'S  LETTER. 

My  dear  Son. — Your  letter  of  last  week 
reached  us  yesterday,  and  I  enclose  $13,  which 
is  all  I  have  by  me  at  the  present  time.  I  may 
sell  the  other  shote  next  week  and  make  up 
the  balance  of  what  you  wanted.  I  will  prob- 
ably have  to  wear  the  old  buflfalo  overcoat  to 
meetings  again  this  winter,  but  that  don't  mat- 
ter so  long  as  you  are  getting  an  education. 

I  hope  you  will  get  your  education  as  cheap 
as  you  can,  for  it  cramps  your  mother  and  me 
like  Sam  Hill  to  put  up  the  money.  Mind  you, 
I  don't  complain.  I  knew  education  come 
high,  but  I  didn't  know  the  clothes  cost  so  like 
sixty. 

I  want  you  to  be  so  that  you  can  go  any- 
where and  spell  the  hardest  word.  I  want  you 
to  be  able  to  go  among  the  Romans  or  the 
Medes  and  Persians  and  talk  to  any  of  them  in 
their  own  native  tongue. 

I  never  had  any  advantages  when  I  was  a 
boy,  but  your  mother  and  I  decided  that  we 
would  sock  you  full  of  knowledge,  if  your  liver 
held  out,  regardless  of  expense.  We  calcu- 
late to  do  it,  only  we  want  you  to  go  as  slow 

35 


Retributive  Justice. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

on  swallow-tail  coats  as  possible  till  we  can 
sell  our  hay. 

Now,  regarding  that  boat-paddling  suit,  and 
that  baseball  suit,  and  that  bathing  suit,  and 
that  roller-rinktum  suit,  and  that  lawn-tennis 
suit,  mind,  I  don't  care  about  the  expense,  be- 
cause you  say  a  young  man  can't  really  edu- 
cate himself  thoroughly  without  them,  but  I 
wish  you'd  send  home  what  you  get  through 
with  this  fall  and  I'll  wear  them  through  the 
winter  under  my  other  clothes.  We  have  a 
good  deal  severer  winters  here  than  we  used 
to,  or  else  I'm  failing  in  bodily  health.  Last 
winter  I  tried  to  go  through  without  under- 
clothes, the  way  I  did  when  I  was  a  boy,  but 
a  Manitoba  wave  came  down  our  way  and 
picked  me  out  of  a  crowd  with  its  eyes  shet. 

In  your  last  letter  you  alluded  to  getting  in- 
jured in  a  little  "hazing  scuffle  with  a  pelican 
from  the  rural  districts."  I  don't  want  any 
harm  to  come  to  you,  my  son,  but  if  I  went 
from  the  rural  districts,  and  another  young 
gosling  from  the  rural  districts  undertook  to 
haze  me,  I  would  meet  him  when  the  sun 
goes  down,  and  I  would  swat  him  across  the 
back  of  the  neck  with  a  fence  board,  and  then 
I  would  meander  across  the  pit  of  his  stom- 

Z7 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ach  and  put  a  blue  forget-me-not  under  his 
eye. 

Your  father  ain't  much  on  Grecian  mythol- 
ogy and  how  to  get  the  square  root  of  a  bar- 
rel of  pork,  but  he  wouldn't  allow  any  educa- 
tional institutions  to  haze  him  with  impunity. 
Perhaps  you  remember  once  when  you  tried 
to  haze  your  father  a  little,  just  to  kill  time, 
and  how  long  it  took  you  to  recover.  Any- 
body that  goes  at  it  right  can  have  a  good  deal 
of  fun  with  your  father,  but  those  who  have 
sought  to  monkey  with  him,  just  to  break  up 
the  monotony  of  life,  have  most  always  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  what  they  sought. 

I  ain't  much  of  a  pensman,  so  you  will  have 
to  excuse  this  letter.  We  are  all  quite  well, 
except  old  Fan,  who  has  a  galded  shoulder, 
and  hope  this  will  find  you  enjoying  the  same 
great  blessing. 

Your  Father. 


38 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


ARCHIMEDES. 

Archimedes,  whose  given  name  has  been  ac- 
cidentally torn  off  and  swallowed  up  in  ob- 
livion, was  born  in  Syracuse,  2,171  years  ago 
last  spring.  He  was  a  philosopher  and  math- 
ematical expert.  During  his  life  he  was  never 
successfully  stumped  in  figures.  It  ill  befits 
me  now,  standing  by  his  new-made  grave,  to 
say  aught  of  him  that  is  not  of  praise.  We 
can  only  mourn  his  untimely  death,  and  won- 
der which  of  our  little  band  of  great  men  will 
be  the  next  to  go. 

Archimedes  was  the  first  to  originate  and 
use  the  word  ''Eureka."  It  has  been  success- 
fully used  very  much  lately,  and  as  a  result  we 
have  the  Eureka  baking-powder,  the  Eureka 
suspender,  the  Eureka  bed-bug  buster,  the 
Eureka  shirt,  and  the  Eureka  stomach  bitters. 
Little  did  Archimedes  wot,  when  he  invented 
this  term,  that  it  would  come  into  such  gen- 
eral use. 

Its  origin  has  been  explained  before,  but 
it  would  not  be  out  of  place  here  for  me  to  tell 
it  as  I  call  it  to  mind  now,  looking  back  over 
Archie's  eventful  life. 

39 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

King  Hiero  had  ordered  an  eighteen  karat 
crown,  size  y/s,  and,  after  receiving  it  from  the 
hands  of  the  jeweler,  suspected  that  it  had 
been  adulterated.  He  therefore  applied  to  Ar- 
chimedes to  ascertain,  if  possible,  whether  such 
was  the  case  or  not.  Archimedes  had  just  got 
in  on  No.  3,  two  hours  late,  and  covered  with 
dust.  He  at  once  started  for  a  hot  and  cold 
bath  emporium  on  Sixteenth  street,  meantime 
wondering  how  the  dickens  he  would  settle 
that  crown  business. 

He  filled  the  bath-tub  level  full,  and,  piling 
up  his  raiment  on  the  floor,  jumped  in.  Dis- 
placing a  large  quantity  of  water,  equal  to  his 
own  bulk,  he  thereupon  solved  the  question  of 
specific  gravity,  and,  forgetting  his  bill,  for- 
getting his  clothes,  he  sailed  up  Sixteenth 
street  and  all  over  Syracuse,  clothed  in  shim- 
mering sunlight  and  a  plain  gold  ring,  shout- 
ing "Eureka!"'  He  ran  head-first  into  a  Syr- 
acuse policeman  and  howled  "Eureka!"  The 
policeman  said:  "You'll  have  to  excuse  me;  I 
don't  know  him."  He  scattered  the  Syracuse 
Xormal  school  on  its  way  home,  and  tried  to 
board  a  Fifteenth  street  bob-tail  car,  yelling 
"Eureka!"      The    car-driver    told    him    that 

40 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Eureka  wasn't  on  the  car,  and  refered  Archi- 
medes to  a  clothing  store. 

Everywhere  he  was  greeted  with  surprise. 
He  tried  to  pay  his  car-fare,  but  found  that 
he  had  left  his  money  in  his  other  clothes. 

Some  thought  it  was  the  revised  statue  of 
Hercules;  that  he  had  become  weary  of  stand- 
ing on  his  pedestal  during  the  hot  weather, 
and  had  started  out  for  fresh  air.  I  give  this 
as  I  remember  it.  The  story  is  foundered  on 
fact. 

Archimedes  once  said:  "Give  me  where  I 
may  stand,  and  I  will  move  the  world."  I 
could  write  it  in  the  original  Greek,  but,  fear- 
ing that  the  nonpareil  delirium  tremens  type 
might  get  short,  I  give  it  in  the  English  lan- 
guage. 

It  may  be  tardy  justice  to  a  great  mathema- 
tician and  scientist,  but  I  have  a  few  resolu- 
tions of  respect  which  I  would  be  very  glad  to 
get  printed  on  this  solemn  occasion,  and  mail 
copies  of  the  paper  to  his  relatives  and  friends: 
"Whereas,  It  has  pleased  an  All-wise 
Providence  to  remove  from  our  midst  Archi- 
medes, who  was  ever  at  the  front  in  all  deserv- 
ing labors  and  enterprises;  and 

"Whereas,    We    can    but    feebly    express 

41 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

our  great  sorrow  in  the  loss  of  Archimedes, 
whose  front  name  has  escaped  our  memory; 
therefore 

"Resolved,  That  in  his  death  we  have  lost  a 
leading  citizen  of  Syracuse,  and  one  who  nev- 
er shook  his  friends — never  weakened  or 
gigged  back  on  those  he  loved. 

"Resolved,  That  copies  of  these  resolutions 
will  be  spread  on  the  moments  of  the  meeting 
of  the  Common  Council  of  Syracuse,  and  that 
they  be  published  in  the  Syracuse  papers 
eodtfpdq&cod,  and  that  marked  copies  of  said 
papers  be  mailed  to  the  relatives  of  the  de- 
ceased." 


42 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


TO  THE  PRESIDENT  ELECT. 

Dear  Sir. — The  painful  duty  of  turning  over 
to  you  the  administration  of  these  United 
States  and  the  key  to  the  front  door  of  the 
White  House  has  been  assigned  to  me.  You 
will  find  the  key  hanging  inside  the  storm- 
door,  and  the  cistern-pole  up  stairs  in  the  hay- 
mow of  the  barn. 

I  have  made  a  great  many  suggestions  to 
the  outgoing  administration  relative  to  the 
transfer  of  the  Indian  bureau  from  the  depart- 
ment of  the  Interior  to  that  of  the  sweet  by- 
and-by.  The  Indian,  I  may  say,  has  been  a 
great  source  of  annoyance  to  me,  several  of 
their  number  having  jumped  one  of  my  most 
valuable  mining  claims  on  White  river.  Still, 
I  do  not  complain  of  that.  This  mine,  how- 
ever, I  am  convinced  would  be  a  good  paying 
property  if  properly  worked,  and  should  you  at 
any  time  wish  to  take  the  regular  army  and 
such  other  help  as  you  may  need  and  recap- 
ture it  from  our  red  brothers,  I  would  be  glad 
to  give  you  a  controlling  interest  in  it. 

You  will  find  all  papers  in  their  appropriate 
pigeon-holes,   and    a   small   jar   of   cucumber 

43 


A  Dearth  of  Soap  in  the  Laundry  and  Bath-Room. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

pickles  down  cellar,  which  were  left  over  and 
to  which  you  will  be  perfectly  welcome.  The 
asperities  and  heart  burnings  that  were  the 
immediate  result  of  a  hot  and  unusually  bit- 
ter campaign  are  now  all  buried.  Take  these 
pickles  and  use  them  as  though  they  were  your 
own.  They  are  none  too  good  for  you.  You 
deserve  them.  We  may  differ  politically,  but 
that  need  not  interfere  with  our  warm  personal 
friendship. 

You  will  observe  on  taking  possession  of 
the  administration,  that  the  navy  is  a  little  bit 
weather-beaten  and  wormy.  I  would  sug- 
gest that  it  be  newly  painted  in  the  spring.  If 
it  had  been  my  good  fortune  to  receive  a  ma- 
jority of  the  suffrages  of  the  people  for  the  of- 
fice which  you  now  hold,  I  should  have  painted 
the  navy  red.  Still,  that  need  not  influence  you 
in  the  course  which  you  may  see  fit  to  adopt. 

There  are  many  affairs  of  great  moment 
which  I  have  not  enumerated  in  this  brief  let- 
ter, because  I  felt  some  little  delicacy  and  tim- 
idity about  appearing  to  be  at  all  dictatorial  or 
officious  about  a  matter  wl.crein  the  public 
might  charge  me  with  interference. 

I  hope  you  will  receive  the  foregoing  in  a 
friendly  spirit,  and  whatever  your  convictions 

45 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

may  be  upon  great  questions  of  national  in- 
terest, either  foreign  or  domestic,  that  you  will 
not  undertake  to  blow  out  the  gas  on  retiring, 
and  that  you  will  in  other  ways  realize  the  fond 
anticipations  which  are  now  cherished  in  your 
behalf  by  a  mighty  people  whose  aggregated 
eye  is  now  on  to  you. 

Bill  Nye. 
P.    S. — You  will   be    a  little   surprised,    no 
doubt,  to  find  no  soap  in  the  laundry  or  bath- 
rooms.    It  probably  got  into  the  campaign  in 
some  way  and  was  absorbed. 

B.  N. 


46 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


ANATOMY. 

The  word  anatomy  is  derived  from  two 
Greek  spatters  and  three  polywogs,  which, 
when  translated,  signify  "up  through"  and 
"to  cut,"  so  that  anatomy  actually,  when 
translated  from  the  original  wappy-jawed 
Greek,  means  to  cut  up  through.  That 
is  no  doubt  the  reason  why  the  medical  stu- 
dent proceeds  to  cut  up  through  the  entire 
course. 

Anatomy  is  so  called  because  its  best  results 
are  obtained  from  the  cutting  or  dissecting  of 
organism.  For  that  reason  there  is  a  growing 
demand  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  medical 
college  for  good  second-hand  organisms.  Par- 
ties having  well  preserved  organisms  that  they 
are  not  actually  using,  will  do  well  to  call  at 
the  side  door  of  the  medical  college  after  lo 
P.  M. 

The  branch  of  the  comparative  anatomy 
which  seeks  to  trace  the  unities  of  plan  which 
are  exhibited  in  diverse  organisms,  and  which 
discovers,  as  far  as  may  be,  the  principles 
which  govern  the  growth  and  development  of 
organized  bodies,  and  which  finds  functional 

47 


studying  Anatomy. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

analogies  and  structural  homologies,  is  denom- 
inated philosophical  or  transcendental  anat- 
omy. (This  statement,  though  strictly  true, 
is  not  original  with  me.) 

Careful  study  of  the  human  organism  after 
death  shows  traces  of  functional  analogies  and 
structural  homologies  in  people  who  were  sup- 
posed to  have  been  in  perfect  health  all  their 
lives.  Probably  many  of  those  we  meet  in  the 
daily  walks  of  life,  many,  too,  who  wear  a 
smile  and  outwardly  seem  happy,  have  either 
one  or  both  of  these  things.  A  man  may  live 
a  false  life  and  deceive  his  most  intimate 
friends  in  the  matter  of  anatomical  analogies 
or  homologies,  but  he  cannot  conceal  it  from 
the  eagle  eye  of  the  medical  student.  The 
ambitious  medical  student  makes  a  specialty 
of  true  inwardness. 

The  study  of  the  structure  of  animals  is 
called  zootomy.  The  attempt  to  study  the 
anatomical  structure  of  a  grizzly  bear  from 
the  inside  has  not  been  crowned  with  success. 
When  the  anatomizer  and  the  bear  have  been 
thrown  together  casually,  it  has  generally 
been  a  struggle  between  the  two  organisms  to 
see  which  would  make  a  study  of  the  structure 
of  the  other.    Zootomy  and  moral  suasion  are 

49 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

not  homogeneous,  analogous,  nor  indigenous. 

Vegetable   anatomy   is    called  phytonomy, 
sometimes.     But  it  would  not  be  safe  to  ad- 
dress a  vigorous  man  by  that  epithet.     We 
may  call  a  vegetable  that,  however,  and  be 
safe. 

Human  anatomy  is  that  branch  of  anatomy 
which  enters  into  the  description  of  the  struc- 
ture and  geographical  distribution  of  the  ele- 
ments of  a  human  being.  It  also  applies  to  the 
structure  of  the  microbe  that  crawls  out  of 
jail  every  four  years  just  long  enough  to  whip 
his  wife,  vote  and  go  back  again. 

Human  anatomy  is  either  general,  specific, 
topographical  or  surgical.  These  terms  do  not 
imply  the  dissection  and  anatomy  of  generals, 
specialists,  topographers  and  surgeons,  as 
they  might  seem  to  imply,  but  really  mean 
something  else.  I  would  explain  here  what 
they  actually  do  mean  if  I  had  more  room  and 
knew  enough  to  do  it. 

Anatomists  divide  their  science,  as  well  as 
their  subjects,  into  fragments.  Osteology 
treats  of  the  skeleton,  myology  of  the  muscles, 
angiology  of  the  blood  vessels,  splanchology 
the  digestive  organs  or  department  of  the  in- 
terior, and  so  on. 

50 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

People  tell  pretty  tough  stories  of  the  young 
carvists  who  study  anatomy  on  subjects  taken 
from  life.  I  would  repeat  a  few  of  them  here, 
but  they  are  productive  of  insomnia,  so  I  will 
not  give  them. 


Wr^^^J^""    ^^ 


I  visited  a  matinee  of  this  kind  once  for  a 
short  time,  but  I  have  not  been  there  since, 
When  I  have  a  holiday  now,  the  idea  of  spend- 
ing it  in  the  dissecting-room  of  a  large  and 

51 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

flourishing  medical  college  does  not  occur  to 
me. 

I  never  could  be  a  successful  surgeon,  I  fear. 
While  I  have  no  hesitation  about  mutilating 
the  English,  I  have  scruples  about  cutting  up 
other  nationalities.  I  should  always  fear, 
while  pursuing  my  studies,  that  I  might  be 
called  upon  to  dissect  a  friend,  and  I  could  not 
do  that.  I  should  like  to  do  anything  that 
would  advance  the  cause  of  science,  but  I 
should  not  want  to  form  the  habit  of  dissect- 
ing people,  lest  some  day  I  might  be  called 
upon  to  dissect  a  friend  for  whom  I  had  a 
great  attachment,  or  some  creditor  who  had  an 
attachment  for  me. 


52 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


MR.  SWEENEY'S  CAT. 

Robert  Ormsby  Sweeney  is  a  druggist  of 
St.  Paul,  and  though  a  recent  chronological 
record  reveals  the  fact  that  he  is  a  direct  de- 
scendant of  a  sure-enough  king,  and  though 
there  is  mighty  good  purple,  royal  blood  in  his 
veins  that  dates  back  where  kings  used  to 
have  something  to  do  to  earn  their  salaries, 
he  goes  right  on  with  his  regular  business, 
selling  drugs  at  the  great  sacrifice  which  drug- 
gists will  make  sometimes  in  order  to  place 
their  goods  within  the  reach  of  all. 

As  soon  as  I  learned  that  Mr.  Sweeney  had 
barely  escaped  being  a  crowned  head,  I  got 
acquainted  with  him  and  tried  to  cheer  him 
up,  and  I  told  him  that  people  wouldn't  hold 
him  in  any  way  responsible,  and  that  as  it 
hadn't  shown  itself  in  his  family  for  years  he 
might  perhaps  finally  wear  it  out. 

He  is  a  mighty  pleasant  man  to  meet,  any- 
how, and  you  can  have  just  as  much  fun  with 
him  as  you  could  with  a  man  who  didn't  have 
any  royal  blood  in  his  veins.  You  could  be 
with  him  for  days  on  a  fishing  trip  and  never 
notice  it  at  all. 

53 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

But  I  was  going  to  speak  more  in  particular 
about  Mr.  Sweeney's  cat.  Mr.  Sweeney  had 
a  large  cat,  named  Dr.  Mary  Walker,  of  which 
he  was  very  fond.  Dr.  Mary  Walker  remained 
at  the  drug  store  all  the  time,  and  was  known 


At  First  She   Regarded   It  As  a  Joke. 


all  over  St.  Paul  as  a  quiet  and  reserved  cat. 
If  Dr.  Mary  Walker  took  in  the  town  after  of- 
fice hours,  nobody  seemed  to  know  anything 
about  it.  She  would  be  around  bright  and 
cheerful  the  next  morning  and  attend  to  her 

54 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

duties  at  the  store  just  as  though  nothing 
whatever  had  happened. 

One  day  last  summer  Mr.  Sweeney  left  a 
large  plate  of  fly-paper  with  water  on  it  in  the 
window,  hoping  to  gather  in  a  few  quarts  of 
Hies  in  a  deceased  state.  Dr.  Mary  Walker 
used  to  go  to  this  window  during  the  after- 
noon and  look  out  on  the  busy  street  while 
she  called  up  pleasant  memories  of  her  past 
life.  That  afternoon  she  thought  she  would 
call  up  some  more  memories,  so  she  went  over 
on  the  counter  and  from  there  jumped  down 
on  the  window-sill,  landing  with  all  four  feet 
in  the  plate  of  fly-paper. 

At  first  she  regarded  it  as  a  joke,  and  treat- 
ed the  matter  very  lightly,  but  later  on  she  ob- 
served that  the  fly-paper  stuck  to  her  feet  with 
great  tenacity  of  purpose.  Those  who  have 
never  seen  the  look  of  surprise  and  deep  sor- 
row that  a  cat  wears  when  slie  finds  herself 
glued  to  a  whole  sheet  of  fly-paper,  cannot 
fully  appreciate  the  way  Dr.  Mary  Walker  felt. 
She  did  not  dash  wildly  through  a  $150  plate- 
glass  window,  as  some  cats  would  have  done. 
She  controlled  herself  and  acted  in  the  coolest 
manner,  though  you  could  have  seen  that  men- 
tally she  suffered  intensely.     She  sat  down  a 

55 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

moment  to  more  fully  outline  a  plan  for  the 
future.  In  doing  so,  she  made  a  great  mis- 
take. The  gesture  resulted  in  gluing  the  fly- 
paper to  her  person  in  such  a  way  that  the 
edge  turned  up  behind  in  the  most  abrupt 
manner,  and  caused  her  great  inconvenience. 

Some  one  at  that  time  laughed  in  a  coarse 
and  heartless  way,  and  I  wish  you  could  have 
seen  the  look  of  pain  that  Dr.  Mary  Walker 
gave  him. 

Then  she  went  away.  She  did  not  go  around 
the  prescription  case  as  the  rest  of  us  did,  but 
strolled  through  the  middle  of  it,  and  so  on 
out  through  the  glass  door  at  the  rear  of  the 
store.  We  did  not  see  her  go  through  the 
glass  door,  but  we  found  pieces  of  fly-paper 
and  fur  on  the  ragged  edges  of  a  large  aper- 
ture in  the  glass,  and  we  kind  of  jumped  at  the 
conclusion  that  Dr.  Mary  Walker  had  taken 
that  direction  in  retiring  from  the  room. 

Dr.  Mary  •  Walker  never  returned  to  St. 
Paul,  and  her  exact  whereabouts  are  not 
known,  though  every  effort  was  made  to  find 
her.  Fragments  of  fly-paper  and  brindle  hair 
were  found  as  far  west  as  the  Yellowstone 
National  Park,  and  as  far  north  as  the  British 
line,  but   the   doctor  herself  was  not   found. 

S6 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

My  own  theory  is,  that  if  she  turned  her  bow 
to  the  west  so  as  to  catch  the  strong  easterly 
gale  on  her  quarter,  with  the  sail  she  had  set 
and  her  tail  pointing  directly  toward  the  ze- 
nith, the  chances  for  Dr.  Mary  Walker's  im- 
mediate return  are  extremely  slim. 


57 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

THE  HEYDAY  OF  LIFE. 

There  will  always  be  a  slight  difference  in 
the  opinions  of  the  young  and  the  mature,  rel- 
ative to  the  general  plan  on  which  the  solar 
system  should  be  operated,  no  doubt.  There 
are  also  points  of  disagreement  in  other  mat- 
ters, and  it  looks  as  though  there  always  would 
be. 

To  the  young  the  future  has  a  more  roseate 
hue.  The  roseate  hue  comes  high,  but  we  have 
to  use  it  in  this  place.  To  the  young  there 
spreads  out  across  the  horizon  a  glorious 
range  of  possibilities.  After  the  youth  has  en- 
dorsed for  an  intimate  friend  a  few  times  and 
purchased  the  paper  at  the  bank  himself  later 
on,  the  horizon  won't  seem  to  horizon  so  tu- 
multuously  as  it  did  aforetime.  I  remember 
at  one  time  of  purchasing  such  a  piece  of  ac- 
commodation paper  at  a  bank,  and  I  still  have 
it.  I  didn't  need  it  any  more  than  a  cat  needs 
eleven  tails  at  one  and  the  same  time.  Still 
the  bank  made  it  an  object  for  me,  and  I  se- 
cured it.  Such  things  as  these  harshly  knock 
the  flush  and  bloom  off  the  cheek  of  youth,  and 
prompt  us  to  turn  the  strawberry-box  bottom 
side  up  before  we  purchase  it. 

58 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Youth  is  gay  and  hopeful,  age  is  covered 
with  experience  and  scars  where  the  skin  has 
been  knocked  oft  and  had  to  grow  on  again. 
To  the  young  a  dollar  looks  large  and  strong, 
but  to  the  middle-aged  and  the  old  it  is  weak 
and  inefficient. 

When  we  are  in  the  heyday  and  fizz  of  ex- 
istence, we  believe  everything;  but  after  awhile 
we  murmur:  "What's  that  you  are  givin'  us," 
or  words  of  like  character.  Age  brings  cau- 
tion and  a  lot  of  shop-worn  experience,  pur- 
chased at  the  highest  market  price.  Time 
brings  vain  regrets  and  wisdom  teeth  that  can 
be  left  in  a  glass  of  water  over  night. 

Still  we  should  not  repine.    If  people  would 
repine  less  and  try  harder  to  get  up  an  appetite 
by  persweating  in  some  one's  vineyard  at  so 
much  per  diem,  it  would  be  better.    The  Amer- 
ican people  of  late  years  seem  to  have  a  deep- 
er and  deadlier  repugnance  for  mannish  indus- 
try, and  there  seems  to  be  a  growing  opinion 
that  our  crops  are  more  abundant  when  sat- 
urated with  foreign  perspiration.     European 
sweat,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  use  such  a  low 
term,  is  very  good  in  its  place,  but  the  native- 
born' Duke 'of  Dakota,  or  the  Earl  of  York 
State  should  remember  that  the  matter  of  per- 

59 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

spiration  and  posterity  should  not  be  left  sole- 
ly to  the  foreigner. 

There  are  too  many  Americans  who  toil  not, 
neither  do  they  spin.  They  would  be  willing 
to  have  an  office  foisted  upon  them,  but  they 
would  rather  blow  their  so-called  brains  out 
than  to  steer  a  pair  of  large  steel-gray  mules 
from  day  to  day.  They  are  too  proud  to  hoe 
corn,  for  fear  some  great  man  will  ride  by  and 
see  the  termination  of  their  shirts  extending 
out  through  the  seats  of  their  pantaloons,  but 
they  are  not  too  proud  to  assign  their  shat- 
tered finances  to  a  friend  and  their  shattered 
remains  to  the  morgue. 

Pride  is  all  right  if  it  is  the  right  kind,  but 
the  pride  that  prompts  a  man  to  kill  his  moth- 
er, because  she  at  last  refuses  to  black  his  boots 
any  more,  is  an  erroneous  pride.  The  pride 
that  induces  a  man  to  muss  up  the  carpet  with 
his  brains  because  there  is  nothing  left  for' him 
t'o  do  but  labor,  is  the  kind  that  Lucifer  had 
when  he  bolted  the  action  of  the  convention 
and  went  over  to  the  red-hot  minority. 

Youth  is  the  spring-time  of  life.  It  is  the 
time  to  acquire  information,  so  that  we  may 
show  it  off  in  after  years  and  paralyze  people 
with  what   we   know.     The   wise   youth  will 

60 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

**lay  low"  till  he  gets  a  whole  lot  of  knowledge, 
and  then  in  later  days  turn  it  loose  in  an  abrupt 
manner.  He  will  guard  against  telling  what 
he  knows,  a  little  at  a  time.  That  is  unwise. 
I  once  knew  a  youth  who  wore  himself  out 
telling  people  all  he  knew  from  day  to  day,  so 
that  when  he  became  a  bald-headed  man  he 
was  utterly  exhausted  and  didn't  have  any- 
thing left  to  tell  anyone.  Some  of  the  things 
that  we  know  should  be  saved  for  our  own  use. 
The  man  who  sheds  all  his  knowledge,  and 
don't  leave  enough  to  keep  house  with,  fools 
himself. 


6i 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THEY  FELL. 

Two  delegates  to  the  General  Convocation 
of  the  Sons  of  lee  Water  were  sitting  in  the 
lobby  of  the  Windsor,  in  the  city  of  Denver, 
not  long  ago,  strangers  to  each  other  and  to 
everybody  else.  One  came  from  Huerferno 
county,  and  the  other  was  a  delegate  from  the 
Ice  Water  Encampment  of  Correjos  county. 

From  the  beautiful  billiard  hall  came  the 
sharp  rattle  of  ivory  balls,  and  in  the  bar-room 
there  was  a  glitter  of  electric  light,  cut  glass, 
and  French  plate  mirrors.  Out  of  the  door 
came  the  merry  laughter  of  the  giddy  throng, 
flavored  with  fragrant  Havana  smoke  and  the 
delicate  odor  of  lemon  and  mirth  and  pine  ap- 
ple and  cognac. 

The  delegate  from  Correjos  felt  lonely,  and 
he  turned  to  the  Ice  Water  representative  from 
Huerferno: 

"That  was  a  bold  and  fearless  speech  you 
made  this  afternoon  on  the  demon  rum  at  the 
convocation." 

"Think  so?"  said  the  sad  Huerferno  man. 

"Yes,  you  entered  into  the  description  of 
rum's  maniac  till  I  could  almost  see  the  red- 

62 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

eyed  centipedes  and  tropical  hornets  in  the  air. 
How  could  you  describe  the  jimjams  so  graph- 
ically?" 

''Well,  you  see,  I'm  a  reformed  drunkard. 
Only  a  little  while  ago  I  was  in  the  gutter." 

"So  was  I." 

"How  long  ago?" 

"Week  ago  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Next  Tuesday  it'll  be  a  week  since  I  quit." 

"Well,  I  swan!" 

"Ain't  it  funny?" 

"Tolerable." 

i]C  5(C  3|C  3fC  3H 

"It's  going  to  be  a  long,  cold  winter;  don't 
you  think  so?" 

"Yes,  I  dread  it  a  good  deal." 

2fC  3fC  ^  'fC  ^ 

"It's  a  comfort,  though,  to  know  that  you 
never  will  touch  rum  again." 

"Yes,  I  am  glad  in  my  heart  to-night  that  I 
am  free  from  it.  I  shall  never  touch  rum 
again." 

When  he  said  this  he  looked  up  at  the  other 
delegate,  and  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes  earnestly,  as  though  each  would  read  the 
other's  soul.     Then  the  Huerferno  man  said: 

"In  fact,  I  never  did  care  much  for  rum." 

63 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Then  there  was  a  long  pause. 

Finally  the  Correjos  man  ventured:  "Do 
you  have  to  use  an  antidote  to  cure  the  thirst?" 

"Yes,  I've  had  to  rely  on  that  a  good  deal  at 
first.  Probably  this  vain  yearning  that  I  now 
feel  in  the  pit  of  my  bosom  will  disappear  after 
awhile." 

"Have  you  got  any  antidote  with  you?" 

"Y^es,  I've  got  some  up  in  232^/4.  If  you'll 
come  up  I'll  give  you  a  dose." 

"There's  no  rum  in  it,  is  there?" 

"No." 

Then  they  went  up  the  elevator.  They  did 
not  get  down  to  breakfast,  but  at  dinner  they 
stole  in.  The  man  from  Huerferno  dodged 
nervously  through  the  archway  leading  to  the 
dining-room  as  though  he  had  his  doubts 
about  getting  through  so  small  a  space  with 
his  augmented  head,  and  the  man  from  Corre- 
jos looked  like  one  who  had  wept  his  eyes  al- 
most blind  over  the  woe  that  rum  has  wrought 
in  our  fair  land. 

When  the  waiter  asked  the  delegate  from 
Correjos  for  his  desert  order,  the  red-nosed 
Son  of  Ice  Water  said:  "Bring  me  a  cup  of 
tea,  some  pudding  without  wine  sauce,  and  a 
piece  of  mince  pie.    You  may  also  bring  me  a 

64 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

cork  screw,  if  you  please,  to  pull  the  brandy 
out  of  the  mince  pie  with." 

Then  the  two  reformed  drunkards  looked 
at  each  other,  and  laughed  a  hoarse,  bitter  and 
joyous  laugh. 

At  the  afternoon  session  of  the  Sons  of  Ice 
Water,  the  Huerferno  delegate  couldn't  get 
his  regalia  over  his  head. 


6s 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


SECOND  LETTER  TO  THE  PRESIDENT. 

To  the  President. — I  write  this  letter  not 
on  my  own  account,  but  on  behalf  of  a  per- 
sonal friend  of  mine  who  is  known  as  a  mug- 
wump. He  is  a  great  worker  for  political  re- 
form, but  he  cannot  spell  very  well,  so  he  has 
asked  me  to  write  this  letter.  He  knew  that  I 
had  been  thrown  among  great  men  all  my  life, 
and  that,  owing  to  my  high  social  position 
and  fine  education,  I  would  be  peculiarly  fitted 
to  write  you  in  a  way  that  would  not  call  forth 
disagreeable  remarks,  and  so  he  has  given  me 
the  points  and  I  have  arranged  them  for  you. 

In  the  first  place,  my  friend  desires  me  to 
convey  to  you,  Mr.  President,  in  a  delicate 
manner,  and  in  such  language  as  to  avoid  giv- 
ing offense,  that  he  is  somewhat  disappointed 
in  your  Cabinet.  I  hate  to  talk  this  way  to  a 
bran-new  President,  but  my  friend  feels  hurt 
and  he  desires  that  I  should  say  to  you  that 
he  regrets  your  short-sighted  policy.  He  says 
that  it  seems  to  him  there  is  very  little  in  the 
administration  so  far  to  encourage  a  man  to 
shake  off  old  parties  ties  and  try  to  make  men 
better.     He  desires  to  say  that  after  convers- 

66 


Working  for  Reform. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ing  with  a  large  number  of  the  purest  men. 
men  who  have  been  in  both  poHtical  parties 
off  and  on  for  years  and  yet  have  never  been 
corrupted  by  ofhce,  men  who  have  left  con- 
vention after  convention  in  years  past  because 
those  conventions  were  corrupt  and  endorsed 
other  men  than  themselves  for  office,  he  finds 
that  your  appointment  of  Cabinet  officers  will 
only  please  two  classes,  viz.:  Democrats  and 
Republicans. 

Now,  what  do  you  care  for  an  administra- 
tion which  will  only  gratify  those  two  old 
parties?  Are  you  going  to  snap  your  fingers 
in  disdain  at  men  who  admit  that  they  are  su- 
perior to  anybody  else?  Do  you  want  history 
to  chronicle  the  fact  that  President  Cleveland 
accepted  the  aid  of  the  pure  and  highly  culti- 
vated gentlemen  who  never  did  anything 
naughty  or  unpretty,  and  then  appointed  his 
Cabinet  from  men  who  had  been  known  for 
years  as  rude,  naughty  Democrats? 

My  friend  says  that  he  feels  sure  you  would 
not  have  done  so  if  you  had  fully  realized  how 
he  felt  about  it.  He  claims  that  in  the  first 
week  of  your  administration  you  have  basely 
truckled  to  the  corrupt  majority.     You  have 

68 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

shown  yourself  to  be  the  friend  of  men  who 
never  claimed  to  be  truly  good. 

If  you  persist  in  this  course  you  will  lose  the 
respect  and  esteem  of  my  friend  and  another 
man  who  is  politically  pure,  and  who  has  never 
smirched  his  escutcheon  with  an  office.  He 
has  one  of  the  cleanest  and  most  vigorous  es- 
cutcheons in  that  county.  He  never  leaves  it 
out  over  night  during  the  summer,  and  in  the 
winter  he  buries  it  in  sawdust.  Both  of  these 
men  will  go  back  to  the  Republican  party  in 
1888  if  you  persist  in  the  course  you  have  thus 
far  adopted.  They  would  go  back  now  if  the 
Republican  party  insisted  on  it. 

Mr.  President,  I  hate  to  write  to  you  in  this 
tone  of  voice,  because  I  know  the  pain  it  will 
give  you.  I  once  held  an  office  myself,  Mr. 
President,  and  it  hurt  my  feelings  very  much 
to  have  a  warm  personal  friend  criticise  my 
official  acts. 

The  worst  feature  of  the  whole  thing,  Mr. 
President,  is  that  it  will  encourage  crime.  If 
men  who  never  committed  any  crime  are  al- 
lowed to  earn  their  living  by  the  precarious 
methods  peculiar  to  manual  labor,  and  if  those 
who  have  abstained  from  office  for  years,  by 
request  of  many  citizens,  are  to  be  denied  the 

69 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

endorsement  of  the  administration,  they  will 
lose  courage  to  go  on  and  do  right  in  the  fut- 
ure. My  friend  desires  to  state  vicariously, 
in  the  strongest  terms,  that  both  he  and  his 
wife  feel  the  same  way  about  it,  and  they  will 
not  promise  to  keep  it  quiet  any  longer.  They 
feel  like  crippling  the  administration  in  every 
way  they  can  if  the  present  policy  is  to  be  pur- 
sued. 

He  says  he  dislikes  to  begin  thus  early  to 
threaten  a  President  who  has  barely  taken  off 
his  overshoes  and  drawn  his  mileage,  but  he 
thinks  it  may  prevent  a  recurrence  of  these 
unfortunate  mistakes.  He  claims  that  you 
have  totally  misunderstood  the  principles  of 
the  mugwumps  all  the  way  through.  You 
seem  to  regard  the  reform  movement  as  one 
introduced  for  the  purpose  of  universal  bene- 
fit. This  was  not  the  case.  While  fully  en- 
dorsing and  supporting  reform,  he  says  that 
they  did  not  go  into  it  merely  to  kill  time  or 
simply  for  fun.  He  also  says  that  when  he 
became  a  reformer  and  supported  you,  he  did 
not  think  there  were  so  many  prominent 
Democrats  who  would  have  claims  upon  you. 
He  can  only  now  deplore  the  great  national 
poverty  of  offices  and  the  boundless  wealth  of 

70 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

raw  material  in  the   Democratic  party   from 
which  to  supply  even  that  meager  demand. 

He  wishes  me  to  add,  also,  that  you  must 
have  over-estimated  the  zeal  of  his  party  for 
civil  service  reform.  He  says  that  they  did 
not  yearn  for  civil  service  reform  so  much  as 
many  people  seem  to  think. 

I  must  now  draw  this  letter  to  a  close.  We 
are  all  well  with  the  exception  of  colds  in  the 
head,  but  nothing  that  need  give  you  any  un- 
easiness. Our  large  seal-brown  hen  last  week, 
stimulated  by  a  rising  egg  market,  over-exert- 
ed herself,  and  on  Saturday  evening,  as  the 
twilight  gathered,  she  yielded  to  a  complica- 
tion of  pip  and  softening  of  the  brain  and  ex- 
pired in  my  arms.  She  certainly  led  a  most 
exemplary  life  and  the  forked  tongue  of  slan- 
der could  find  naught  to  utter  against  her. 

Hoping    that  you    are   enjoying    the    same 
great  blessing  and  that  you  will  write  as  often 
as  possible  without  waiting  for  me,  I  remain, 
Very  respectfully  yours, 

Bill  Nye. 

(Dictated  Letter.) 


71 


BILE  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


MILLING  IN  POMPEII. 

While  visiting  Naples  last  fall,  I  took  a 
great  interest  in  the  wonderful  museum  there, 
of  objects  that  have  been  exhumed  from  the 
ruins  of  Pompeii.  It  is  a  remarkable  collec- 
tion, including,  among  other  things,  the  cum- 
bersome machinery  of  a  large  woolen  factory, 
the  receipts,  contracts,  statements  of  sales, 
etc.,  etc.,  of  bankers,  brokers,  and  usurers.  I 
was  told  that  the  exhumist  also  ran  into  an 
Etruscan  bucket-shop  in  one  part  of  the  city, 
but,  owing  to  the  long  dry  spell,  the  buckets 
had  fallen  to  pieces. 

The  object  which  engrossed  my  attention 
the  most,  however,  was  what  seems  to  have 
been  a  circular  issued  prior  to  the  great  vol- 
canic vomit  of  79  A.  D.,  and  no  doubt  prior 
even  to  the  Christian  era.  As  the  date  is  torn 
off,  however,  we  are  left  to  conjecture  the  time 
at  which  it  was  issued.  I  was  permitted  to 
make  a  copy  of  it,  and  with  the  aid  of  my  hired 
man  I  have  translated  it  with  great  care. 


7^ 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Office  of 
LUCRETIUS  &  PROCALUS, 
Dealers  in 
Flour,  Bran,    Shorts,   Middlings,   Screenings, 
Etruscan  Hen  Feed,  and  Other 
Choice  Bric-a-Brac. 
Highest  Cash  Price  Paid  for  Neapolitan  Win- 
ter Wheat  and  Roman  Corn.    Why  Haul 
Your  Wheat  Through  the  Sand  to 
Herculaneum,  When  We  Pay 
the  Same  Price  Here? 


Office  and  Mill,  Via  VIII,  Near  the  Stabian 

Gate,  Only  Thirteen  Blocks  from  the 

P.  O.,  Pompeii. 

Dear  Sir:    This  circular  has  been  called  out 

by  another  one  issued  last  month  by  Messrs. 

Toecorneous   &  Chilblainicus,  alleged  millers 

and  wheat  buyers  of  Herculaneum,  in  which 

they  claim  to  pay  a  quarter  to  a  half-cent  more 

per  bushel  than  we  do  for  wheat,  and  charge 

us  with  docking  the  farmers  around  Pompeii 

a  pound  per  bushel  more  than  necessary  for 

cockle,    wild    buckwheat,    and    pigeon-grass 

seed.     They  make  the  broad  statement  that 

we  have  made  all  our  money  in  that  way,  and 

73 


JliACUlANEUM    'BUWlhlG  CO, 


i^^ 


Two  Old   Romans. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

claim  that  Mr.  Lucretius,  of  our  mill,  has 
erected  a  fine  house,  which  the  farmers  allude 
to  as  the  "wild  buckwheat  villa." 

We  do  not,  as  a  general  rule,  pay  any  atten- 
tion to  this  kind  of  stuff;  but  when  two  snide 
Romans,  who  went  to  Herculaneum  without 
a  dollar  and  drank  stale  beer  out  of  an  old 
Etruscan  tomato-can  the  first  year  they  were 
there,  assail  our  integrity,  we  feel  justified  in 
making  a  prompt  and  final  reply.  We  desire 
to  state  to  the  Roman  farmers  that  we  do  not 
test  their  wheat  with  the  crooked  brass  tester 
that  has  made  more  money  for  Messrs.  Toe- 
corneous  &  Chilblainicus  than  their  old  mill 
has.  We  do  not  do  that  kind  of  business. 
Neither  do  we  buy  a  man's  wheat  at  a  cash 
price  and  then  work  off  four  or  five  hundred 
pounds  of  XXXX  Imperial  hog  feed  on  him  in 
part  payment.  When  we  buy  a  man's  wheat 
we  pay  him  in  money.  We  do  not  seek  to  fill 
him  up  with  sour  Carthagenian  cracked  wheat 
and  orders  on  the  store. 

We  would  also  call  attention  to  the  im- 
provements that  we  have  just  made  in  our 
mill.  Last  week  we  put  a  handle  in  the  upper 
burr,  and  we  have  also  engaged  one  of  the 
best  head  millers  in  Pompeii  to  turn  the  crank 

75 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

day-times.  Our  old  head  miller  will  oversee 
the  business  at  night,  so  that  the  mill  will  be 
in  full  blast  night  and  day,  except  when  the 
head  miller  has  gone  to  his  meals  or  stopped 
to  spit  on  his  hands. 

The  mill  of  our  vile  contemporaries  at  Her- 
culaneum  is  an  old  one  that  was  used  around 
Naples  one  hundred  years  ago  to  smash  rock 
for  the  Neapolitan  road,  and  is  entirely  out  of 
repair.  It  was  also  used  in  a  brick-yard  here 
near  Pompeii;  then  an  old  junk  man  sold  it  to 
a  tenderfoot  from  Jerusalem  as  an  ice-cream 
freezer.  He  found  that  it  would  not  work,  and 
so  used  it  to  grind  up  potato  bugs  for  blisters. 
Now  it  is  grinding  ostensible  flour  at  Hercu- 
laneum. 

We  desire  to  state  to  the  farmers  about 
Pompeii  and  Herculaneum  that  we  aim  to 
please.  We  desire  to  make  a  grade  of  flour 
this  summer  that  will  not  have  to  be  run 
through  the  coffee  mill  before  it  can  be  used. 
We  will  also  pay  you  the  highest  price  for 
good  wheat,  and  give  you  good  weight.  Our 
capacity  is  now  greatly  enlarged,  both  as  to 
storage  and  grinding.  We  now  turn  out  a 
sack  of  flour,  complete  and  ready  for  use,  ev- 
ery little  while.     We   have    an    extra   handle 

76 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

for  the  mill,  so  that  in  case  of  accident  to  the 
one  now  in  use,  we  need  not  shut  down  but  a 
few  moments.  We  call  attention  to  our 
XXXX  Git-there  brand  of  flour.    It  is  the  best 


(^- 


Ancient  Roman  Miller. 

flour  in  the  market  for  making  angels'  food 
and  other  celestial  groceries.  We  fully  war- 
rant it,  and  will  agree  that  for  every  sack  con- 
taining whole  kernels  of  corn,  corncobs,  or 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

other  foreign  substances,  not  thoroughly  pul- 
verized, we  will  refund  the  money  already 
paid,  and  show  the  person  through  our  mill. 

We  would  also  like  to  call  the  attention  of 
farmers  and  housewives  around  Pompeii  to 
our  celebrated  Dough  Squatter.  It  is  purely 
automatic  in  its  operation,  requiring  only 
two  men  to  work  it.  With  this  machine 
two  men  will  knead  all  the  bread  they 
can  eat  and  do  it  easily,  feeling  thoroughly  re- 
freshed at  night.  They  also  avoid  that  dark 
maroon  taste  in  the  mouth  so  common  in  Pom- 
peii on  arising  in  the  morning. 

To  those  who  do  not  feel  able  to  buy  one  of 
these  machines,  we  would  say  that  we  have 
made  arrangements  for  the  approaching  sea- 
son, so  that  those  who  wish  may  bring  their 
dough  to  our  mammoth  squatter  and  get  it 
treated  at  our  place  at  the  nominal  price  of 
two  bits  per  squat.  Strangers  calling  for  their 
squat  or  unsquat  dough  will  have  to  be  identi- 
fied. 

Do  not  forget  the  place,  \'ia  \'III,  near  Sta- 
bian  gate.  Lucretius  &  Procalus. 

Dealers  in  choice  family  flour,  cut  feed  and 
oatmeal  with  or  without  clinkers  in  it.  Try 
our  lumpless  bran  for  indigestion. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


BRONCHO  SAM. 

Speaking  about  cowboys,  Sam  Stewart, 
known  from  Montana  to  Old  Mexico  as  Bron- 
cho Sam,  was  the  chief.  He  w-as  not  a  white 
man,  an  Indian,  a  greaser  or  a  negro,  but  he 
had  the  nose  of  an  Indian  warrior,  the  curly 
hair  of  an  African,  and  the  courtesy  and  eques- 
trian grace  of  a  Spaniard.  A  wide  reputation 
as  a  "broncho  breaker''  gave  him  his  name. 
To  master  an  untamed  broncho  and  teach  him 
to  lead,  to  drive  and  to  be  safely  ridden  was 
Sam's  mission  during  the  w^arm  w^eather  when 
he  was  not  riding  the  range.  His  special  de- 
light was  to  break  the  war-like  heart  of  the 
vicious  wild  pony  of  the  plains  and  make  him 
the  sen-ant  of  man. 

I've  seen  him  mount  a  hostile  "bucker,"  and, 
clinching  his  italic  legs  around  the  body  of  his 
adversary,  ride  him  till  the  blood  would  burst 
from  Sam's  nostrils  and  spatter  horse  and 
rider  like  rain.  Most  every-one  knows  what  the 
bucking  of  the  barbarous  Western  horse 
means.  The  wild  horse  probably  learned  it 
from  the  antelope,  for  the  latter  does  it  the 
same  way,  i.  e.,  he  jumps  straight  up  into  the 

79 


A   Broncho  Eruption 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

air,  at  the  same  instant  curving  his  back  and 
coming  down  stiff-legged,  with  all  four  of  his 
feet  in  a  bunch.  The  concussion  is  consider- 
able. 

I  tried  it  once  myself.  I  partially  rode  a 
roan  broncho  one  spring  day,  which  will  al- 
ways be  green  in  my  memory.  The  day,  I 
mean,  not  the  broncho. 

It  occupied  my  entire  attention  to  safely 
ride  the  cunning  little  beast,  and  when  he  be- 
gan to  ride  me  I  put  in  a  minority  report 
against  it. 

I  have  passed  through  an  earthquake  and  an 
Indian  outbreak,  but  I  would  rather  ride  an 
earthquake  without  saddle  or  bridle  than  to 
bestride  a  successful  broncho  eruption.  I  re- 
member that  I  wore  a  large  pair  of  Mexican 
spurs,  but  I  forgot  them  until  the  saddle 
turned.  Then  I  remembered  them.  Sitting 
down  on  them  in  an  impulsive  way  brought 
them  to  my  mind.  Then  the  broncho  steed  sat 
down  on  me,  and  that  gave  the  spurs  an  op- 
portunity to  make  a  more  lasting  impression 
on  my  mind. 

To  those  who  observed  the  charger  with  the 
double  "cinch"  across  his  back  and  the  saddle 
in  front  of  him,  like  a  big  leather  corset,  sit- 

8i 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ting  at  the  same  time  on  my  person,  there  must 
have  been  a  tinge  of  amusement;  but  to  me  it 
was  not  so  frolicsome. 

There  may  be  joy  in  a  wild  gallop  across 
the  boundless  plains  in  the  crisp  morning,  on 
the  back  of  a  fleet  broncho;  but  when  you  re- 
turn with  your  ribs  sticking  through  your 
vest,  and  find  that  your  nimble  steed  has  re- 
turned to  town  two  hours  ahead  of  you,  there 
is  a  tinge  of  sadness  about  it  all. 

Broncho  Sam,  however,  made  a  specialty  of 
doing  all  the  riding  himself.  He  wouldn't  en- 
ter into  any  compromise  and  allow  the  horse  to 
ride  him. 

In  a  reckless  moment  he  oflfered  to  bet  ten 
dollars  that  he  could  mount  and  ride  a  wild 
Texas  steer.  The  money  was  put  up.  That 
settled  it.  Sam  never  took  water.  This  was 
true  in  a  double  sense.  Well,  he  climbed  the 
cross-bar  of  the  corral-gate,  and  asked  the  oth- 
er boys  to  turn  out  their  best  steer,  Marquis  of 
Queensbury  rules. 

As  the  steer  passed  out,  Sam  slid  down  and 
wrapped  those  parenthetical  legs  of  his  around 
that  high-headed,  broad-horned  brute,  and  he 
rode  him  till  the  fleet-footed  animal  fell  down 
on  the  bufl^alo  grass,  ran  his  hot  red  tongue 

82 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

out  across  the  blue  horizon,  shook  his  tail  con- 
vulsively, swelled  up  sadly  and  died. 

It  took  Sam  four  days  to  walk  back. 

A  ten-dollar  bill  looks  as  large  to  me  as  the 
star-spangled  banner  sometimes;  but  that  is 
an  avenue  of  wealth  that  had  not  occurred  to 
me. 

I'd  rather  ride  a  buzz-saw  at  two  dollars  a 
day  and  found. 


83 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


HOW  EVOLUTION  EVOLVES. 

The  following  paper  was  read  by  me  in  a 
clear,  resonant  tone  of  voice,  before  the  Acad- 
emy of  Science  and  Pugilism  at  Erin  Prairie, 
last  month,  and  as  I  have  been  so  continually 
and  so  earnestly  importuned  to  print  it  that 
life  was  no  longer  desirable,  I  submit  it  to  you 
for  that  purpose,  hoping  that  you  will  print 
my  name  in  large  caps,  with  astonishers,  at 
the  head  of  the  article,  and  also  in  good  dis- 
play type  at  the  close: 

Some  Features  of  Evolution. 

No  one  could  possibly,  in  a  brief  paper,  do 
the  subject  of  evolution  full  justice.  It  is  a 
matter  of  great  importance  to  our  lost  and  un- 
done race.  It  lies  near  to  every  human  heart, 
and  exercises  a  wonderful  iinfluence  over  our 
impulses  and  our  ultimate  success  or  failure. 
When  we  pause  to  consider  the  opaque  and 
fathomless  ignorance  of  the  great  masses  of 
our  fellov.'  men  on  the  subject  of  evolution,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  crime  is  rather  on  the 
increase,  and  that  thousands  of  our  race  are 
annuallv    filling    drunkard's    graves,   with   no 

84 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Other  visible  means  of  support,  while  multi- 
tudes of  enlightened  human  beings  are  at  the 
same  time  obtaining  a  livelihood  by  meeting 
with  felons'  dooms. 

These  I  would  ask  in  all  seriousness  and  m 
a  tone  of  voice  that  would  melt  the  stoniest 
heart:  "Why  in  creation  do  you  do  it?"  The 
time  is  rapidly  approaching  when  there  will 
be  two  or  three  felons  for  each  doom.  I  am 
sure  that  within  the  next  fifty  years,  and  per- 
haps sooner  even  than  that,  instead  of  hand- 
ing out  these  dooms  to  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry, 
as  formerlv,  every  applicant  for  a  felon's  doom 
will  have  to  pass  through  a  competitive  exam- 
ination, as  he  should  do. 

It  will  be  the  same  with  those  who  desire  to 
fill  drunkards'  graves.  The  time  is  almost 
here  when  all  positions  of  profit  and  trust  will 
be  carefully  and  judiciously  handed  out,  and 
those  who  do  not  fit  themselves  for  those  po- 
sitions will  be  left  in  the  lurch,  wherever  that 

mav  be.  .      i      r 

It  is  with  this  fact  glaring  me  m  the  face 
that  I  have  consented  to  appear  before  you  to- 
day and  lay  bare  the  whole  hypothesis,  his- 
tory, rise  and  fall,  modifications,  anatomy, 
physiology  and  geology  of  evolution.    It  is  for 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

this  that  I  have  pored  over  such  works  as 
Huxley,  Herbert  Spencer,  Moses  in  the  bul- 
rushes, Anaxagoras,  Lucretius  and  Hoyle.  It 
is  for  the  purpose  of  advancing  the  cause  of 
common  humanity  and  to  jerk  the  rising  gen- 
eration out  of  barbarism  into  the  dazzling  ef- 
fulgence of  clashing  intellects  and  fermenting 
brains  that  T  have  sought  the  works  of  Py- 
thagoras, Democritus  and  Epluribus.  When- 
ever I  could  find  any  book  that  bore  upon  the 
subject  of  evolution,  and  could  borrow  it,  I 
have  done  so  while  others  slept. 

That  is  a  matter  which  rarely  enters  into 
the  minds  of  those  who  go  easily  and  care- 
lessly through  life.  Even  the  general  super- 
intendent of  the  Academy  of  Science  and 
Pugilism  here  in  Erin  Prairie,  the  hotbed  of 
a  free  and  untrammeled,  robust  democracy, 
does  not  stop  to  think  of  the  midnight  and 
other  kinds  of  oil  that  I  have  consumed  in  or- 
der to  fill  myself  full  of  information  and  to 
soak  my  porous  mind  with  thought.  Even  the 
O'Reilly  College  of  this  place,  with  its  strong 
mental  faculty,  has  not  informed  itself  fully 
relative  to  the  great  effort  necessary  before  a 
lecturer  may  speak  clearly,  accurately  and  ex- 
haustingly  of  evolution. 

86 


BILL  NYES  RED  BOOK 

And  yet,  here  in  this  place,  where  education 
is  rampant,  and  the  idea  is  patted  on  the  back, 
as  I  may  say;  here  in  Erin  Prairie,  where  prog- 
ress and  some  other  sentiments  are  written  on 
everything;  here  where  I  am  addressing  you 
to-night  for  $2  and  feed  for  my  horse,  I  met 
a  little  child  with  a  bright  and  cheerful  smile, 
who  did  not  know  that  evolution  consisted  in 
a  progress  from  the  homogeneous  to  the  het- 
erogeneous. 

So  you  see  that  you  never  know  where  ignor- 
ance lurks.  The  hydra-headed  upas  tree  and 
bete  noir  of  self-acting  progress  is  such  ignor- 
ance as  that,  lurking  in  the  very  shadow  of 
magnificent  educational  institutions  and  hard 
words  of  great  cast.  Nothing  can  be  more  dis- 
agreeable to  the  scientist  than  a  bete 
noir.  Nothing  gives  him  greater  satisfaction 
than  to  chase  it  up  a  tree  or  mash  it  between 
two  shingles. 

For  this  reason,  as  I  said,  it  gives  me  great 
pleasure  to  address  you  on  the  subject  of  evo- 
lution, and  to  go  into  details  in  speaking  of  it. 
I  could  go  on  for  hours  as  I  have  been  doing, 
delighting  you  with  the  intricacies  and  pecu- 
liarities of  evolution,  but  I  must  desist.  It 
would  please  me  to  do  so,  and  you  would  no 

87 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

doubt  remain  patiently  and  listen,  but  your 
business  might  suffer  while  you  were  away, 
and  so  I  will  close,  but  I  hope  that  anyone  now 
within  the  sound  of  my  voice,  and  in  whose 
breast  a  sudden  hunger  for  more  light  on  this 
great  subject  may  have  sprung  up,  will  feel  per- 
fectly free  to  call  on  me  and  ask  me  about  it 
or  immerse  himself  in  the  numerous  tomes  that 
I  have  collected  from  friends,  and  which  relate 
to  this  matter. 

In  closing  I  wish  to  say  that  I  have  made 
no  statements  in  this  paper  relative  to  evolu- 
tion which  I  am  not  prepared  to  prove;  and,  if 
anything,  I  have  been  over-conservative.  For 
that  reason  I  say  now,  that  the  person  who 
doubts  a  single  fact  as  I  have  given  it  to-night, 
bearing  upon  the  great  subject  of  evolution, 
will  have  to  do  so  over  my  dumb  remains. 

And  a  man  who  will  do  that  is  no  gentleman. 
I  presume  that  many  of  thcs6  statements  will 
be  snapped  up  and  sharply  criticised  by  other 
theologians  and  many  of  our  foremost  think- 
ers, but  they  will  do  well  to  pause  before  they 
draw  me  into  a  controversy,  for  I  have  other 
facts  in  relation  to  evolution,  and  some  per- 
sonal reminiscences  and  family  history,  which 
I  am  prepared  to  introduce,  if  necessary,  to- 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

gether  with  ideas  that  I  have  thought  up  my- 
self. So  I  say  to  those  who  may  hope  to  at- 
tract notice  and  obtain  notoriety  by  drawing 
me  into  a  controversy,  beware.  It  will  be  to 
your  interest  to  beware! 


89 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


HOURS  WITH  GREAT  MEN. 

I  presume  that  I  could  write  an  entire  library 
of  personal  reminiscences  relative  to  the  emi- 
nent people  with  whom  I  have  been  thrown 
during  a  busy  life,  but  I  hate  to  do  it,  because 
I  always  regarded  such  things  as  sacred  from 
the  vulgar  eye,  and  I  felt  bound  to  respect  the 
confidence  of  a  prominent  man  just  as  much 
as  I  would  that  of  one  who  was  less  before  the 
people.  I  remember  very  well  my  first  meet- 
ing with  General  W.  T.  Sherman.  I  would 
not  mention  it  here  if  it  were  not  for  the  fact 
that  the  people  seem  to  be  yearning  for  per- 
sonal reminiscences  of  great  men,  and  that  is 
perfectly  right,  too. 

It  was  since  the  war  that  I  met  General 
Sherman,  and  it  was  on  the  line  of  the  Union 
Pacific  Railway,  at  one  of  those  justly  cele- 
brated eating-houses,  which  I  understand  are 
now  abandoned.  The  colored  waiter  had  cut 
ofT  a  strip  of  the  omelette  with  a  pair  of  shears, 
the  scorched  oatmeal  had  been  passed  around, 
the  little  rubber  door  mats  fried  in  butter  and 
called  pancakes  had  been  dealt  around  the 
table,  and  the  cashier  at  the  end  of  the  hall 

.90 


An  Encounter  With  the  Sutter 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

had  just  gone  through  the  clothes  of  a  party 
from  Vermont,  who  claimed  a  rebate  on  the 
ground  that  the  waiter  had  refused  to  bring 
him  anything  but  his  bill.  There  was  no  sound 
in  the  dining-room  except  the  weak  request 
of  the  coffee  for  more  air  and  stimulants,  or 
perhaps  the  cry  of  pain  when  the  butter,  while 
practicing  with  the  dumb-bells,  would  hit  a 
child  on  the  head;  then  all  would  be  still  again. 

General  Sherman  sat  at  one  end  of  the  table, 
throwing  a  life-preserver  to  a  fly  in  the  milk 
pitcher. 

We  had  never  met  before,  though  for  years 
we  had  been  plodding  along  life's  rugged  way 
— he  in  the  war  department,  I  in  the  postoffice 
department.  Unknown  to  each  other,  we  had 
been  holding  up  opposite  corners  of  the  great 
national  fabric,  if  you  will  allow  me  that  ex- 
pression. 

I  remember,  as  well  as  though  it  were  but 
yesterday,  how  the  conversation  began.  Gen- 
eral Sherman  looked  sternly  at  me  and  said: 

"I  wnsh  you  would  overpower  that  butter 
and  send  it  up  this  way." 

"All  right,"  said  I,  "if  you  will  please  pass 
those  molasses." 

That  was  all  that  was  said,  but  I  shall  never 

92 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

forget  it,  and  probably  he  never  will.  The  con- 
versation was  brief,  but  yet  how  full  of  food 
for  thought!  How  true,  how  earnest,  how 
natural !  Nothing  stilted  or  false  about  it.  It 
was  the  natural  expression  of  two  minds  that 
were  too  great  to  be  verbose  or  to  monkey  with 
social,  conversational  flapdoodle. 

I  remember,  once,  a  great  while  ago,  I  was 
asked  by  a  friend  to  go  with  him  in  the  even- 
ing to  the  house  of  an  acquaintance,  where 
they  were  going  to  have  a  kind  of  musicale, 
at  which  there  was  to  be  some  noted  pianist, 
who  had  kindly  consented  to  play  a  few 
strains.  I  did  not  get  the  name  of  the  profes- 
sional, but  I  went,  and  when  the  first  piece  was 
announced  I  saw  that  the  light  was  very  un- 
certain, so  I  kindly  volunteered  to  get  a  lamp 
from  another  room.  I  held  that  big  lamp, 
weighing  about  twenty-nine  pounds,  for  half 
an  hour,  while  the  pianist  would  tinky  tinky 
up  on  the  right  hand,  or  bang,  boomy  to  bang 
down  on  the  bass,  while  he  snorted  and 
slugged  that  old  concert  grand  piano  and  al- 
most knocked  its  teeth  down  its  throat,  or 
gently  dawdled  with  the  keys  like  a  pale  moon- 
beam shimmering  through  the  bleached  raft- 
ers of  a  deceased  horse,  until  at  last  there  was 

93 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

a  wild  jangle,  such  as  the  accomplished  mu- 
sician gives  to  an  instrument  to  show  the  au- 
dience that  he  has  disabled  the  piano,  and  will 
take  a  slight  intermission  while  it  is  sent  to 
the  junk  shop. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  I  carefully  put  down 
the  twenty-nine  pound  lamp,  and  my  friend 
told  me  that  I  had  been  standing  there  like  lib- 
erty enlightening  the  world,  and  holding  that 
heavy  lamp  for  Blind  Tom. 

^  3(C  35C  3pE  ^  3jC  3JC 

I  had  never  seen  him  before,  and  I  slipped 
out  of  the  room  before  he  had  a  chance  to  see 
me. 


94 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


CONCERNING  CORONERS. 

I  am  glad  to  notice  that  in  the  East  there  is 
a  growing  disfavor  in  the  public  mind  for  se- 
lecting a  practicing  physician  for  the  office  of 
coroner.  This  matter  should  have  attracted 
attention  years  ago.  Now  it  gratifies  me  to 
notice  a  finer  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  people, 
and  an  awakening  of  those  sensibilities  which 
go  to  make  life  more  highly  prized  and  far 
more  enjoyable. 

I  had  the  misfortune  at  one  time  to  be  under 
the  medical  charge  of  a  coroner  who  had  grad- 
uated from  a  Chicago  morgue  and  practiced 
medicine  along  with  his  inquest  business  with 
the  most  fiendish  delight.  I  do  not  know 
which  he  enjoyed  best,  holding  the  inquest  or 
practicing  on  his  patient  and  getting  the  vic- 
tim ready  for  the  quest. 

One  day  he  wrote  out  a  prescription  and  left 
it  for  me  to  have  filled.  I  was  surprised  to 
find  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  and  left  a 
rough  draft  of  the  verdict  in  my  own  case  and 
a  list  of  jurors  which  he  had  made  in  memo- 
randum, so  as  to  be  ready  for  the  worst.  I 
was  alarmed,  for  I  did  not  know  that  I  was  in 

95 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

so  dangerous  a  condition.  He  had  the  advan- 
tage of  me,  for  he  knew  just  what  he  was  giv- 
ing me,  and  how  long  human  Hfe  could  be  sus- 
tained under  his  treatment.     I  did  not. 

That  is  why  I  say  that  the  profession  of 
medicine  should  not  be  allowed  to  conflict  with 
the  solemn  duties  of  the  coroner.  They  are 
constantly  clashing  and  infringing  upon  each 
other's  territory.  This  coroner  had  a  kind  of 
tread-softly-bow-the-head  way  of  getting 
around  the  room  that  made  my  flesh  creep.  He 
had  a  way,  too,  when  I  was  asleep,  of  glancing 
hurriedly  through  the  pockets  of  my  panta- 
loons as  they  hung  over  a  chair,  probably  to 
see  what  evidence  he  could  find  that  might  aid 
the  jury  in  arriving  at  a  verdict.  Once  I  woke 
up  and  found  him  examining  a  draft  that  he 
had  found  in  my  pocket.  I  asked  him  what  he 
was  doing  with  my  funds,  and  he  said  that  he 
thought  he  detected  a  draft  in  the  room  and  he 
had  just  found  out  where  it  came  from. 

After  that  I  hoped  that  death  would  come 
to  my  relief  as  speedily  as  possible.  I  felt  that 
death  would  be  a  happy  release  from  the  cold 
touch  of  the  amateur  coroner  and  pro  tem  phy- 
sician. I  could  look  forward  with  pleasure, 
and  even  joy,  to  the  moment  when  my  physi- 

96 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

cian  would  come  for  the  last  time  in  his  pro- 
fessional capacity  and  go  to  work  on  me  offi- 
cially. Then  the  county  would  be  obliged  to 
pay  him,  and  the  undertaker  could  take  charge 
of  the  fragments  left  by  the  inquest. 

The  duties  of  the  physician  are  with  the  liv- 
ing, those  of  the  coroner  with  the  dead.  No 
effort,  therefore,  should  be  made  to  unite  them. 
It  is  in  violation  of  all  the  finer  feelings  of  hu- 
manity. When  the  physician  decides  that  his 
tendencies  point  mostly  toward  immortality 
and  the  names  of  his  patients  are  nearly  all 
found  on  the  moss-covered  stones  of  the  cem- 
etery, he  may  abandon  the  profession  with 
safety  and  take  hold  of  politics.  Then,  should 
his  tastes  lead  him  to  the  inquest,  let  him  grav- 
itate toward  the  office  of  coroner;  but  the  two 
should  not  be  united. 

No  man  ought  to  follow  his  fellow  down  the 
mysterious  river  that  defines  the  boundary  be- 
tween the  known  and  the  unknown,  and 
charge  him  professionally  till  his  soul  has  fled, 
and  then  charge  a  per  diem  to  the  county  for 
prying  into  his  internal  economy  and  holding 
an  inquest  over  the  debris  of  mortality.  I 
therefore  hail  this  movement  with  joy  and 
wish  to  encourage  it  in  every  way.    It  points 

97 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

toward  a  degree  of  enlightenment  which  will 
be  in  strong  contrast  with  the  darker  and  more 
ignorant  epochs  of  time,  when  the  practice  of 
medicine  was  united  with  the  profession  of  the 
barber,  the  well-digger,  the  farrier,  the  veter- 
inarian or  the  coroner. 

Why,  this  physician  plenipotentiary  and  cor- 
oner extraordinary  that  I  have  referred  to, 
didn't  know  when  he  got  a  call  whether  to 
take  his  morphine  syringe  or  his  venire  for  a 
jury.  He  very  frequently  went  to  see  a  patient 
with  a  lung  tester  under  one  arm  and  the  re- 
vised statutes  under  the  other.  People  never 
knew  when  they  saw  him  going  to  a  neigh- 
bor's house,  whether  the  case  had  yielded  to 
the  coroner's  treatment  or  not.  No  one  ever 
knew  just  when  over-taxed  nature  would  yield 
to  the  statutes  in  such  case  made  and  pro- 
vided. 

When  the  jury  was  impanelled,  however, 
we  always  knew  that  the  medical  treatment 
had  been  successfully  fatal. 

Once  he  charged  the  county  with  an  inquest 
he  felt  sure  of,  but  in  the  night  the  patient  got 
delirious,  eluded  his  nurse,  the  physician  and 
coroner,  and  fled  to  the  foot-hills,  where  he 
was  taken  care  of  and  finally  recovered.     The 

98 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

experiences  of  some  of  the  patients  who  es- 
caped from  this  man  read  more  like  fiction  than 
fact.  One  man  revived  during  the  inquest, 
knocked  the  foreman  of  the  jury  through  the 
window,  kicked  the  coroner  in  the  stomach, 
fed  him  a  bottle  of  violet  ink,  and,  with  a  shriek 
of  laughter,  fled.  He  is  now  traveling  under 
an  assumed  name  with  a  mammoth  circus, 
feeding  his  bald  head  to  the  African  lion  twice 
a  day  at  $9  a  week  and  found. 


99 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


DOWN  EAST  RUM. 

Rum  has  always  been  a  curse  to  the  State 
of  Maine.  The  steady  fight  that  Maine  has 
made,  for  a  century  past,  against  decent  rum, 
has  been  worthy  of  a  better  cause. 

Who  hath  woe?  who  hath  sorrow  and  some 
more  things  of  that  kind?  He  that  monkeyeth 
with  Maine  rum;  he  that  goeth  to  seek  emi- 
grant rum. 

In  passing  through  Maine  the  tourist  is 
struck  with  the  ever-varying  styles  of  mys- 
tery connected  with  the  consumption  of  rum. 

In  Denver  your  friend  says:  "Will  you 
come  with  me  and  shed  a  tear?"  or  "Come  and 
eat  a  clove  with  me." 

In  Salt  Lake  City  a  man  once  said  to  me: 
"William,  which  would  you  rather  do,  take  a 
dose  of  Gentile  damnation  down  here  on  the 
corner,  or  go  over  across  the  street  and  pizen 
yourself  with  some  real  old  Mormon  Valley 
tan,  made  last  week  from  ground  feed  and 
prussic  acid?"  I  told  him  that  I  had  just  been 
to  dinner,  and  the  doctor  had  forbidden  my 
drinking  any  more,  and  that  I  had  promised 
several  people  on  their  death  beds  never  to 

100 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

touch  liquor,  and  besides,  I  had  just  taken  a 
large  drink,  so  he  would  have  to  excuse  me. 

But  in  Maine  none  of  these  common  styles 
of  invitation  prevail.  It  is  all  shrouded  in  mys- 
tery. You  give  the  sign  of  distress  to  any 
member  in  good  standing,  pound  three  times 
on  the  outer  gate,  give  two  hard  kicks  and  one 


That  Buttonhole 

soft  one  on  the  inner  door,  give  the  password, 
"Rutherford  B.  Hayes,"  turn  to  the  left, 
through  a  dark  passage,  turn  the  thumbscrew 
of  a  mysterious  gas  fixture  90  deg.  to  the  right, 
holding  the  goblet  of  the  encampment  under 
the  gas  fixture,  then  reverse  the  thumbscrew, 
shut  your  eyes,  insult  you  digester,  leave  twen- 
ty-five cents  near  the  gas  fixture,  and  hunt  up 

lOI 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  nearest  cemetery,  so  that  you  will  not  have 
to  be  carried  very  far. 

If  a  man  really  wants  to  drink  himself  into 
a  drunkard's  grave,  he  can  certainly  save  time 
by  going  to  Maine.  Those  desiring  the  most 
prompt  and  vigorous  style  of  jim-jams  at  cut 
rates  will  do  well  to  examine  Maine  goods  be- 
fore going  elsewhere.  Let  a  man  spend  a  week 
in  Boston,  where  the  Maine  liquor  law,  I  under- 
stand, is  not  in  force,  and  then,  with  no  warn- 
ing whatever,  be  taken  into  the  heart  of 
Maine;  let  him  land  there  a  stranger  and  a  par- 
tial orphan,  with  no  knowledge  of  the  under- 
ground methods  of  securing  a  drink,  and  to 
him  the  world  seems  very  gloomy,  very  sad, 
and  extremely  arid. 

At  the  Bangor  depot  a  woman  came  up  to 
me  and  addressed  me.  She  was  rather  past 
middle  age,  a  perfect  lady  in  her  manners,  but 
a  little  full. 

I  said:  "Madame,  I  guess  you  will  have 
to  excuse  me.  You  have  the  advantage.  I 
can't  just  speak  your  name  at  this  moment.  It 
has  been  now  thirtv  vears  since  I  left  Maine,  a 
child  two  years  old.  So  people  have  changed. 
You've  no  idea  how  people  have  grown  out  of 
my  knowledge.     I  don't  see  but  you  look  just 

102 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

as  young  as  you  did  when  I  went  away,  but 
I'm  a  poor  hand  to  remember  names,  so  I  can't 
just  call  you  to  mind." 

She  was  perfectly  ladylike  in  her  manner, 
but  a  little  bit  drunk.  It  is  singular  how 
drunken  people  will  come  hundreds  of  miles 
to  converse  with  me.  I  have  often  been  allud- 
ed to  as  the  "drunkard's  friend."  Men  have 
been  known  to  get  intoxicated  and  come  a  long 
distance  to  talk  with  me  on  some  subject,  and 
then  they  would  lean  up  against  me  and  con- 
verse by  the  hour.  A  drunken  man  never 
seems  to  get  tired  of  talking  with  me.  As  long 
as  I  am  willing  to  hold  such  a  man  up  and 
listen  to  him,  he  will  stand  and  tell  me  about 
himself  with  the  utmost  confidence,  and,  no 
matter  who  goes  by,  he  does  not  seem  to  be 
ashamed  to  have  people  see  him  talking  with 
me. 

I  once  had  a  friend  who  was  very  much  liked 
by  every  one,  so  he  drifted  into  politics.  For 
seven  years  he  tried  to  live  on  free  whiskey  and 
popular  approval,  but  it  wrecked  him  at  last. 
Finally  he  formed  the  habit  of  meeting  me 
every  day  and  explaining  it  to  me,  and  giving 
me  free  exhibitions  of  a  breath  that  he  had  ac- 
quired at  great  expense.    After  he  got  so  fee- 

103 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ble  that  he  could  not  walk  any  more,  this 
breath  of  his  used  to  pull  him  out  of  bed  and 
drag  him  all  over  the  town.  It  don't  seem 
hardly  possible,  but  it  is  so.  I  can  show  you 
the  town  yet. 

He  used  to  take  me  by  the  buttonhole  when 
he  conversed  with  me.  This  is  a  diagram  of 
the  buttonhole. 

If  I  had  a  son  I  would  warn  him  against  try- 
ing to  subsist  solely  on  popular  approval  and 
free  whiskey.  It  may  do  for  a  man  engaged 
solely  in  sedentary  pursuits,  but  it  is  not  suf- 
ficient in  cases  of  great  muscular  exhaustion. 
Free  whiskey  and  popular  approval  on  an 
empty  stomach  are  highly  injurious. 


104 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


RAILWAY  ETIQUETTTE. 

Many  people  have  traveled  all  their  lives 
and  yet  do  not  know  how  to  behave  them- 
selves when  on  the  road.  For  the  benefit  and 
guidance  of  such,  these  few  crisp,  plain,  horse- 
sense  rules  of  etiquette  have  been  framed. 

In  traveling  by  rail  on  foot,  turn  to  the  right 
on  discovering  an  approaching  train.  If  you 
wish  the  train  to  turn  out,  give  two  loud  toots 
and  get  in  between  the  rails,  so  that  you  will 
not  muss  up  the  right  of  way.  Many  a  nice, 
new  right  of  way  has  been  ruined  by  getting 
a  pedestrian  tourist  spattered  all  over  its  first 
mortgage. 

On  retiring  at  night  on  board  the  train,  do 
not  leave  your  teeth  in  the  ice-water  tank.  If 
everyone  should  do  so,  it  would  occasion  great 
confusion  in  case  of  wreck.  It  would  also 
cause  much  annoyance  and  delay  during  the 
resurrection.  Experienced  tourists  tie  a  string 
to  their  teeth  and  retain  them  during  the 
night. 

If  you  have  been  reared  in  extreme  poverty, 
and  your  mother  supported  you  until  you  grew 
up  and  married,  so  that  your  wife  could  sup- 

105 


BILL  Isr^E'S  RED  BOOK 

port  you,  you  will  probably  sit  in  four  seats 
at  the  same  time,  with  your  feet  extended  in- 
to the  aisles  so  that  you  can  wipe  them  off  on 
other  people,  while  you  snore  with  your  mouth 
open  clear  to  your  shoulder  blades. 

If  you  are  prone  to  drop  to  sleep  and  breathe 
with  a  low  death  rattle,  like  the  exhaust  of  a 
bath  tub,  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  tie  up  your 
.head  in  a  feather  bed  and  then  insert  the  whole 
thing  in  the  linen  closet;  or,  if  you  cannot  se- 
cure that,  you  might  stick  it  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  get  it  knocked  off  against  a  tunnel. 
The  stockholders  of  the  road  might  get  mad 
about  it,  but  you  could  do  it  in  such  a  way  that 
they  wouldn't  know  whose  head  it  was. 

Ladies  and  gentlemen  should  guard  against 
traveling  by  rail  while  in  a  beastly  state  of  in- 
toxication. 

In  the  dining  car,  while  eating,  do  not  comb 
your  moustache  with  your  fork.  By  all 
means  do  not  comb  your  moustache  with 
the  fork  of  another.  It  is  better  to  refrain  al- 
together from  combing  your  moustache  with  a 
fork  while  traveling,  for  the  motion  of  the  train 
might  jab  the  fork  into  your  eye  and  irritate  it. 

If  your  desert  is  very  hot  and  you  do  not  dis- 
cover it  until  you  have  burned  the  rafters  out 

1 06 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

of  the  roof  of  your  mouth,  do  not  utter  a  wild 
yell  of  agony  and  spill  your  coffee  all  over  a 
total  stranger,  but  control  yourself,  hoping  to 
know  more  next  time. 

In  the  morning  is  a  good  time  to  find  out 
how  many  people  have  succeeded  in  getting 
on  the  passenger  train,  who  ought  to  be  in  the 
stock  car. 

Generally,  you  will  find  one  male  and  one 
female.  The  male  goes  into  the  wash  room, 
bathes  his  worthless  carcass  from  daylight  un- 
til breakfast  time,  walking  on  the  feet  of  any 
man  who  tries  to  wash  his  face  during  that 
time.  He  wipes  himself  on  nine  different 
towels,  because  when  he  gets  home  he  knows 
he  will  have  to  wipe  his  face  on  an  old  door 
mat.  People  who  have  been  reared  on  hay  all 
their  lives,  generally  want  to  fill  themselves 
full  of  pie  and  colic  when  they  travel. 

The  female  of  this  same  mammal  goes  into 
the  ladies'  department  and  remains  there  until 
starvation  drives  her  out.  Then  the  real  ladies 
have  about  thirteen  seconds  apiece  in  which 
to  dress. 

If  you  never  rode  in  a  varnished  car  before 
and  never  expect  to  again,  you  will  probably 
roam  up  and  down  the  car,  meandering  over 

107 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  feet  of  the  porter  while  he  is  making-  up  the 
berths.  This  is  a  good  way  to  let  people  see 
just  how  little  sense  you  had  left  after  your 
brain  began  to  soften. 

In  traveling,  do  not  take  along  a  lot  of  old 
clothes  that  you  know  you  will  never  wear. 


io8 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

B.  FRANKLIN,  DECEASED. 

Benjamin  Franklin,  formerly  of  Boston, 
came  very  near  bein,^  an  only  child.  If  seven- 
teen children  had  not  come  to  bless  the  home 
of  Benjamin's  parents,  they  would  have  been 
childless.  Think  of  getting  up  in  the  morning 
and  picking  out  your  shoes  and  stockings  from 
among  seventeen  pairs  of  them.  Imagine 
yourself  a  child,  gentle  reader,  in  a  family 
where  you  would  be  called  upon,  every  morn- 
ing, to  select  your  own  cud  of  spruce  gum  from 
a  collection  of  seventeen  similar  cuds  stuck  on 
a  window  sill.  And  yet  B.  Franklin  never 
murmured  or  repined.  He  desired  to  go  to 
sea,  and  to  avoid  this  he  was  apprenticed  to 
his  brother  James,  who  was  a  printer.  It  is 
said  tlmt  Franklin  at  once  took  hold  of  the 
great  Archimedean  lever,  and  jerked  it  early 
and  late  in  the  interests  of  freedom.  It  is 
claimed  that  Franklin  at  this  time  invented 
the  deadly  weapon  known  as  the  printer's 
towel.  He  found  that  a  common  crash  towel 
could  be  saturated  with  glue,  molasses,  anti- 
mony, concentrated  lye,  and  roller  composi- 
tion, and  that  after  a  few  years  of  time  and 
perspiration  it  would  harden  so  that  the  "Con- 

109 


A  Deadly  OnslaughL 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

stant  Reader"  or  "Veritas"  could  be  stabbed 
with  it  and  die  soon. 

Many  believe  that  Franklin's  other  scien- 
tific experiments  were  productive  of  more  last- 
ing: benefit  to  mankind  than  this,  but  I  do  not 
agree  with  them. 

This  paper  was  called  the  "New  England 
Courant."  It  was  edited  jointly  by  James  and 
Benjamin  Franklin,  and  was  started  to  supply 
a  long-felt  want.  Benjamin  edited  a  part  of 
the  time  and  James  a  part  of  the  time.  The 
idea  of  having  two  editors  was  not  for  the  pur- 
pose of  giving  volume  to  the  editorial  page,  but 
it  was  necessary  for  one  to  run  the  paper  while 
the  other  was  in  jail.  In  those  days  you 
couldn't  sass  the  king,  and  then,  when  the  king 
came  in  the  ofiice  the  next  day  and  stopped  his 
paper,  and  took  out  his  ad.,  you  couldn't  put 
it  off  on  "our  informant"  and  go  right  along 
with  the  paper.  You  had  to  go  to  jail,  while 
your  subscribers  wondered  why  their  paper 
did  not  come,  and  the  paste  soured  in  the  tin 
dippers  in  the  sanctum,  and  the  circus  passed 
by  on  the  other  side. 

How  many  of  us  to-day,  fellow  journalists, 
would  be  willing  to  stay  in  jail  while  the  lawn 
festival   and    the   kangaroo   came   and   went? 

Ill 


stopping  Hit  Paper. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Who,  of  all  our  company,  would  go  to  a  prison 
cell  for  the  cause  of  freedom  while  a  double- 
column  ad.  of  sixteen  aggregated  circuses,  and 
eleven  congresses  of  ferocious  beasts,  fierce 
and  fragrant  from  their  native  lair,  went  by  us? 

At  the  age  of  17,  Ben  got  disgusted  with  his 
brother,  and  went  to  Philadelphia  and  New 
York,  where  he  got  a  chance  to  "sub"  for  a  few 
weeks,  and  then  got  a  regular  "sit."  Frank- 
lin was  a  good  printer,  and  finally  got  to  be  a 
foreman.  He  made  an  excellent  foreman,  sit- 
ting by  the  hour  in  the  composing  room  and 
spitting  on  the  stone,  while  he  cussed  the  make- 
up and  press  work  of  the  other  papers.  Then 
he  would  go  into  the  editorial  rooms  and  scare 
the  editors  to  death  with  a  wild  shriek  for  more 
copy.  He  knew  just  how  to  conduct  himself 
as  a  foreman,  so  that  strangers  would  think 
he  owned  the  paper. 

In  1730,  at  the  age  of  24,  Franklin  married 
and  established  the  "Pennsylvania  Gazette." 
He  was  then  regarded  as  a  great  man,  and  most 
everyone  took  his  paper.  Franklin  grew  to  be 
a  great  journalist,  and  spelled  hard  words  with 
great  fluency.  He  never  tried  to  be  a  humor- 
ist in  any  of  his  newspaper  work,  and  every- 
body respected  him. 

113 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Along  about  1746  he  began  to  study  the  con- 
struction and  habits  of  lightning,  and  inserted 
a  local  in  his  paper,  in  which  he  said  he  would 
be  obliged  to  any  of  his  readers  who  might 
notice  any  new  or  odd  specimens  of  lightning, 
if  they  would  send  them  into  the  Gazette  of- 
fice by  express  for  examination.  Every  time 
there  was  a  thunder  storm,  Franklin  would 
tell  the  foreman  to  edit  the  paper,  and,  armed 
with  a  string  and  an  old  fruit  jar,  he  would 
go  out  on  the  hills  and  get  enough  lightning 
for  a  mess. 

In  1753  Franklin  was  made  postmaster-gen- 
eral of  the  colonies.  He  made  a  good  post- 
master-general, and  people  say  there  were  less 
mistakes  in  distributing  their  mail  than  there 
has  ever  been  since.  If  a  man  mailed  a  letter 
in  those  days,  old  Ben  Franklin  saw  that  it 
went  where  it  was  addressed. 

Franklin  frequently  went  over  to  England 
in  those  days,  partly  on  business,  and  partly 
to  shock  the  king.  He  used  to  delight  in  go- 
ing to  the  castle  with  his  breeches  tucked  in 
his  boots,  figuratively  speaking,  and  attract 
a  good  deal  of  attention.  It  looked  odd  to  the 
English,  of  course,  to  see  him  come  into  the 
royal  presence,  and,  leaving  his  wet  umbrella 

114 


c^^     ^■ 


"How's  Trade?" 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Up  against  the  throne,  ask  the  king:  "How's 
trade?"  Franklin  never  put  on  any  frills,  but 
he  was  not  afraid  of  a  crowned  head.  He  used 
to  say,  frequently,  that  to  him  a  king  was  no 
more  than  a  seven  spot. 

He  did  his  best  to  prevent  the  Revolution- 
ary war,  but  he  couldn't  do  it.  Patrick  Henry 
had  said  that  the  war  was  inevitable,  and  giv- 
en it  permission  to  come,  and  it  came.  He 
also  went  to  Paris  and  got  acquainted  with  a 
few  crowned  heads  there.  They  thought  a 
good  deal  of  him  in  Paris,  and  offered  him  a 
corner  lot  if  he  would  build  there  and  start  a 
paper.  They  also  promised  him  the  county 
printing,  but  he  said  no,  he  would  have  to  go 
back  to  America,  or  his  wife  might  get  un- 
easy about  him. 

Franklin  wrote  "Poor  Richard's  Almanac" 
in  1732-57,  and  it  was  republished  in  England. 
Benjamin  Franklin  had  but  one  son,  and  his 
name  was  William.  William  was  an  illegit- 
imate son,  and,  though  he  lived  to  be  quite  an 
old  man,  he  never  got  over  it  entirely,  but  con- 
tinued to  be  but  an  illegitimate  son  all  his  life. 
Everybody  urged  him  to  do  differently,  but  he 
steadily  refused  to  do  so. 


116 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


LIFE  INSURANCE  AS  A  HEALTH  RE- 
STORER. 

Life  insurance  is  a  great  thing.  I  would  not 
be  without  it.  My  health  is  greatly  improved 
since  I  got  my  new  policy.  Formerly  I  used 
to  have  a  seal-brown  taste  in  my  mouth  when 
I  arose  in  the  morning,  but  that  has  entirely 
disappeared.  I  am  more  hopeful  and  happy, 
and  my  hair  is  getting  thicker  on  top.  I  would 
not  try  to  keep  house  without  life  insurance. 
Last  September  I  was  caught  in  one  of  the 
most  destructive  cyclones  that  ever  visited  a 
republican  form  of  government.  A  great  deal 
of  property  was  destroyed  and  many  lives  were 
lost,  but  I  was  spared.  People  who  had  no  in- 
surance were  mowed  down  on  every  hand,  but 
aside  from  a  broken  leg  I  was  entirely  un- 
harm. 

I  look  upon  life  insurance  as  a  great  com- 
fort, not  only  to  the  beneficiary,  but  to  the 
insured,  who  very  rarely  lives  to  realize  any- 
thing pecuniarily  from  his  venture.  Twice  I 
have  almbst  raised  my  wife  to  affluence  and 
cast  a  gloom  over  the  community  in  which  I 
lived,  but  something  happened  to  the  physi- 

117 


Protected  by  Life  Insurance. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

cian  for  a  few  days  so  that  he  could  not  attend 
me,  and  1  recovered.  For  nearly  two  years  I 
was  under  the  doctor's  care.  He  had  his  fin- 
o-er  on  my  pulse  or  in  my  pocket  all  the  time. 
He  was  a  young  western  physician,  who  at- 
tended me  on  Tuesdays  and  Fridays.  The  rest 
of  the  week  he  devoted  his  medical  skill  to 
horses  that  were  mentally  broken  down.  He 
said  he  attended  me  largely  for  my  society.  I 
felt  flattered  to  know  that  he  enjoyed  my  so- 
ciety after  he  had  been  thrown  among  horses 
all  the  week  that  had  much  greater  advan- 
tages than  L 

My  wife  at  first  objected  seriously  to  an  in- 
surance on  my  life,  and  said  she  would  never, 
never  touch  a  dollar  of  the  money  if  I  were  to 
die,  but  after  I  had  been  sick  nearly  two  years, 
and  my  disposition  had  suffered  a  good  deal, 
she  said  that  I  need  not  delay  the  obsequies  on 
that  account.  .  But  the  life  insurance  slipped 
through  my  fingers  somehow,  and  I  recovered. 
In  these  days  of  dynamite  and  roller  rinks, 
and  the  gory  meat-ax  of  a  new  administration, 
we  ought  to  make  some  provision  for  the  fut- 
ure. 


119 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  OPIUM  HABIT. 

I  have  always  had  a  horror  of  opiates  of  all 
kinds.  They  are  so  seductive  and  so  still  in 
their  operations.  They  steal  through  the 
blood  like  a  wolf  on  the  trail,  and  they  seize 
upon  the  heart  at  last  with  their  white  fangs 
till  it  is  still  forever. 

Up  the  Laramie  there  is  a  cluster  of  ranches 
at  the  base  of  the  Medicine  Bow,  near  the 
north  end  of  Sheep  Mountain,  and  in  sight  of 
the  glittering,  eternal  frost  of  the  snowy  range. 
These  ranches  are  the  homes  of  the  young  men 
from  Massachusetts,  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio, 
and  now  there  are  several  "younger  sons"  of 
Old  England,  with  herds  of  horses,  steers 
and  sheep,  worth  millions  of  dollars.  These 
young  men  are  not  of  the  kind  of  whom  the 
metropolitan  ass  writes  as  saying  "youbetcher- 
life,"  and  calling  everybody  "pardner."  They 
are  many  of  them  college  graduates,  who  can 
brand  a  wild  Maverick  or  furnish  the  easy  ges- 
tures for  a  Strauss  waltz. 

They  wear  human  clothes,  talk  in  the  United 
States  language,  and  have  a  bank  account. 
This  spring  they  ma}^  be  wearing  chaparajos 

120 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

and  swinging  a  quirt  through  the  thin  air,  and 
in  July  they  may  be  at  Long  Branch,  or  color- 
ing a  meerschaum  pipe  among  the  Alps. 

Well,  a  young  man  whom  we  will  call  Curtis 
lived  at  one  of  these  ranches  years  ago,  and, 
though  a  quiet,  mind-your-own-business  fel- 
low, who  had  absolutely  no  enemies  among 
his  companions,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  in- 
cur the  wrath  of  a  tramp  sheep-herder,  who 
waylaid  Curtis  one  afternoon  and  shot  him 
dead  as  he  sat  in  his  buggy.  Curtis  wasn't 
armed.  He  didn't  dream  of  trouble  till  he 
drove  home  from  town,  and,  as  he  passed 
through  the  gates  of  a  corral,  saw  the  hairy 
face  of  the  herder,  and  at  the  same  moment 
the  flash  of  a  Winchester  rifle.    That  was  all. 

A  rancher  came  into  town  and  telegraphed 
to  Curtis  father,  and  then  a  half  dozen  citizens 
went  out  to  help  capture  the  herder,  who  had 
fled  to  the  sage  brush  of  the  foot-hills. 

They  didn't  get  back  till  toward  daybreak, 
but  they  brought  the  herder  with  them.  I  saw 
him  in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  lying  in  a 
coarse  gray  blanket,  on  the  floor  of  the  engine 
house.    He  was  dead. 

I  asked,  as  a  reporter,  how  he  came  to  his 
death,  and  they  told  me — opium!    I  said,  did 

121 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

I  understand  you  to  say  "ropium?"  They  said 
no,  it  was  opium.  The  murderer  had  taken 
poison  when  he  found  that  escape  was  impos- 
sible. 

I  was  present  at  the  inquest,  so  that  I  could 
report  the  case.  There  was  very  little  testi- 
mony, but  all  the  evidence  seemed  to  point  to 
the  fact  that  life  was  extinct,  and  a  verdict  of 
death  by  his  own  hand  was  rendered. 

It  was  the  first  opium  work  I  had  ever  seen, 
and  it  aroused  my  curiosity.  Death  by  opium, 
it  seems,  leaves  a  dark  purple  ring  around  the 
neck.  I  did  not  know  this  before.  People  who 
die  by  opium  also  tie  their  hands  together  be- 
fore they  die.  This  is  one  of  the  eccentricities 
of  opium  poisoning  that  I  have  never  seen  laid 
down  in  the  books.  I  bequeath  it  to  medical 
science.  Whenever  I  run  up  against  a  new 
scientific  discovery,  I  just  hand  it  right  over 
to  the  public  without  cost. 

Ever  since  the  above  incident,  I  have  been 
very  apprehensive  about  people  who  seem  to  be 
likely  to  form  the  opium  habit.  It  is  one  of 
the  most  deadly  of  narcotics,  especially  in  a 
new  country.  Kigh  up  in  the  pure  mountain 
atTvosphere,  this  man  could  not  secure  air 
ev<v\igh  to  prolong  life,  and  he  expired.     In  a 

122 


B7LL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

land  where  clear,  crisp  air  and  delightful 
scenery  are  abundant,  he  turned  his  back  upon 
them  both  and  passed  away.  Is  it  not  sad  to 
contemplate? 


1^3 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


MORE  PATERNAL  CORRESPONDENCE. 

My  dear  Son. — I  tried  to  write  to  you  last 
week,  but  didn't  get  around  to  it,  owing  to  cir- 
cumstances. I  went  away  on  a  little  business 
tower  for  a  few  days  on  the  cars,  and  then  when 
I  got  home  the  sociables  broke  loose  in  our  onct 
happy  home. 

While  on  my  commercial  tower  down  the 
Omehaw  railroad  buying  a  new  well-diggin' 
machine  of  which  I  had  heard  a  good  deal  pro 
and  con,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  riding  on  one  of 
them  sleeping-cars  that  we  read  so  much 
about. 

I  am  going  on  50  years  old,  and  that's  the 
first  time  I  ever  slumbered  at  the  rate  of  forty- 
five  miles  per  hour,  including  stops. 

I  got  acquainted  with  the  porter,  and  he 
blacked  my  boots  in  the  night  unbeknownst  to 
me,  while  I  was  engaged  in  slumber.  He  must 
have  thought  I  was  your  father,  and  that  we 
rolled  in  luxury  at  home  all  the  time,  and  that 
it  was  a  common  thing  for  us  to  have  our  boots 
blacked  by  menials.  When  I  left  the  car  this 
porter  brushed  my  clothes  till  the  hot  flashes 
ran  up  my  spinal  column,  and  I  told  him  that 

124 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

he  had  treated  me  square,  and  I  rung  his  hand 
when  he  held  it  out  toards  me,  and  I  told 
him  that  any  time  he  wanted  a  good,  cool  drink 
of  buttermilk,  to  just  holler  through  our  tel- 
ephone. We  had.the  sociable  at  our  house  last 
week,  and  when  I  got  home  your  mother  set 
me  right  to  work  borryin'  chairs  and  dishes. 
She  had  solicited  some  cakes  and  other  things. 
I  don't  know  whether  you  are  on  the  skedjule 
by  which  these  sociables  are  run  or  not.  The 
idea  is  a  novel  one  to  me. 

The  sisters  in  our  set,  onct  in  so  often,  turn 
their  houses  wrong  side  out  for  the  purpose 
of  raising  four  dollars  to  apply  on  the  church 
debt.  When  I  was  a  boy  we  worshiped  with 
less  frills  than  they  do  now.  Now  it  seems 
that  the  debt  is  a  part  of  the  worship. 

Well,  we  had  a  good  time  and  used  up  150 
cookies  in  a  short  time.  Part  of  these  cookies 
was  devoured  and  the  balance  was  trod  into 
our  all-wool  carpet.  Several  of  the  young  peo- 
ple got  to  playing  Copenhagen  in  the  setting- 
room  and  stepped  on  the  old  cat  in  such  a  way 
as  to  disfigure  him  for  life.  They  also  had  a 
disturbance  in  the  front  room  and  knocked  off 
some  of  the  plastering.  So  your  mother  is 
feeling  slim  and  I  am  not  very  chipper  myself. 

125 


Rough  on  the  Old  Cat 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

I  hope  that  you  are  working  hard  at  your 
books  so  that  you  will  be  an  ornament  to  so- 
ciety. Society  is  needing  some  ornaments 
very  much.  I  sincerely  hope  that  you  will  not 
begin  to  monkey  with  rum.  I  should  hate  to 
have  you  meet  with  a  felon's  doom  or  fill  a 
drunkard's  grave.  If  anybody  has  got  to  fill  a 
drunkard's  grave,  let  him  do  it  himself.  What 
has  the  drunkard  ever  done  for  you,  that  you 
should  fill  his  grave  for  him? 

I  expect  you  to  do  right,  as  near  as  possible. 
You  will  not  do  exactly  right  all  the  time,  but 
try  to  strike  a  good  average.  I  do  not  expect 
you  to  let  your  studies  encroach  too  much  on 
your  polo,  but  try  to  unite  the  two  so  that  you 
will  not  break  down  under  the  strain.  I  should 
feel  sad  and  mortified  to  have  you  come  home 
a  physical  wreck.  I  think  one  physical  wreck 
in  a  family  is  enough,  and  I  am  rapidly  getting 
where  I  can  do  the  entire  physical  wreck  bus- 
iness for  our  neighborhood. 

I  see  by  your  picture  that  you  have  got  one 
of  them  pleated  coats  with  a  belt  around  it, 
and  short  pants.  They  make  you  look  as  you 
did  when  I  used  to  spank  you  in  years  gone  by, 
and  I  feel  the  same  old  desire  to  do  it  now  that 
I  did  then.    Old  and  feeble  as  I  am,  it  seems  to 

127 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

me  as  tnotigh  I  could  spank  a  boy  that  wears 
knickerbocker  pants  buttoned  onto  a  Garabal- 
dy  waist  and  a  pleated  jacket.  If  it  wasn't  for 
them  cute  little  camel's  hair  whiskers  of  yours, 
I  would  not  believe  that  you  had  grown  to  be 
a  large,  expensive  boy,  grown  up  with 
thoughts.  Some  of  the  thoughts  you  express 
in  your  letters  are  far  beyond  your  years.  Do 
you  think  them  yourself,  or  is  there  some  boy 
in  the  school  that  thinks  all  the  thoughts  for 
the  rest? 

Some  of  your  letters  are  so  deep  that  your 
mother  and  I  can  hardly  grapple  with  them. 
One  of  them,  especially,  was  so  full  of  foreign 
stufif  that  you  had  got  out  of  a  bill  of  fare,  that 
we  will  have  to  wait  till  you  come  home  before 
we  can  take  it  in.  I  can  talk  a  little  Chippewa, 
but  that  is  all  the  foreign  language  I  am  fa- 
miliar with.  When  I  was  young  we  had  to  get 
our  foreign  languages  the  best  we  could,  so  I 
studied  Chippewa  without  a  master.  A  Chip- 
pewa chief  took  me  into  his  camp  and  kept  me 
there  for  some  time  while  I  acquired  his  lan- 
guage. He  became  so  much  attached  to  me 
that  I  had  great  difficulty  in  coming  away.  I 
wish  you  would  write  in  the  United  States  di- 
alect as  much  as  possible,  and  not  try  to  par- 

128 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

alyze  your  parents  with  imported  expressions 
that  come  too  high  for  poor  people. 

Remember  that  you  are  the  only  boy  we've 
got,  and  we  are  only  going  through  the  mo- 
tions of  living  here  for  your  sake.  For  us  the 
day  is  wearing  out,  and  it  is  now  way  long  in 
the  shank  of  the  evening.  All  we  ask  of  yuu 
is  to  improve  on  the  old  people.  You  can  sec 
where  I  fooled  myself,  and  you  can  do  better. 
Read  and  write,  and  sifer,  and  polo,  and  get 
nolledge,  and  try  not  to  be  ashamed  of  your 
uncultivated  parents. 

When  you  get  that  checkered  little  sawed- 
oflf  coat  on,  and  that  pair  of  knee  panties,  and 
that  poker-dot  necktie,  and  the  sassy  little  boys 
holler  "rats"  when  you  pass  by,  and  your  heart 
is  bowed  down,  remember  that,  no  matter  how 
foolish  you  may  look,  your  parents  will  never 
sour  on  you. 

Your  Father. 


129 


RILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


TWOMBLEY'S  TALE. 

My  name  is  Twombley,  G.  O.  P.  Twombley 
is  my  full  name  and  I  have  had  a  checkered 
career.  I  thought  it  would  be  best  to  have  my 
career  checked  right  through,  so  I  did  so. 

My  home  is  in  the  Wasatch  Mountains.  Far 
up,  w^here  I  can  see  the  long,  green,  winding 
valley  of  the  Jordan,  like  a  glorious  panorama 
below  me,  I  dwell.  I  keep  a  large  herd  of  An- 
gora goats.  That  is  my  business.  The  An- 
gora goat  is  a  beautiful  animal — in  a  picture. 
But  out  of  a  picture  he  has  a  style  of  perspir- 
ation that  invites  adverse  criticism. 

Still,  it  is  an  independent  life,  and  one  that 
has  its  advantages,  too. 

When  I  first  came  to  Utah,  I  saw  one  day, 
in  Salt  Lake  City,  a  young  girl  arrive.  She 
was  in  the  heyday  of  life,  but  she  couldn't  talk 
our  language.  Her  face  was  oval;  rather 
longer  than  it  was  wide,  I  noticed,  and,  though 
she  was  still  young,  there  were  traces  of  care 
and  other  foreign  substances  plainly  written 
there. 

She  was  an  emigrant,  about  seventeen  years 
of  age,  and,  though  she  had  been  in  Salt  Lake 

130 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

City  an  hour  and  a  half,  she  was  still  unmar- 
ried. 

She  was  about  the  medium  height,  with  blue 
eyes,  that  somehow,  as  you  examined  them 
carefully  in  the  full,  ruddy  light  of  a  glorious 
September  afternoon,  seemed  to  resemble  eacli 
other.    Both  of  them  were  that  way. 

I  know  not  what  gave  me  the  courage,  but  I 
stepped  to  her  side,  and  in  a  low  voice  told 
her  of  my  love  and  asked  her  to  be  mine. 

She  looked  askance  at  me.  Nobody  ever  did 
that  to  me  before  and  lived  to  tell  the  tale.  But 
her  sex  made  me  overlook  it.  Had  she  been 
any  other  sex  that  I  can  think  of,  I  would  have 
resented  it.  But  I  would  not  strike  a  woman, 
especially  when  I  had  not  been  married  to  her 
and  had  no  right  to  do  so. 

I  turned  on  my  heel  and  I  went  away.  I 
most  always  turn  on  my  heel  when  I  go 
away.  If  I  did  not  turn  on  my  own  heel  when 
I  went  away,  whose  heel  would  a  lonely  man 
like  me  turn  upon? 

Years  rolled  by.  I  did  nothing  to  prevent  it. 
Still  that  face  came  to  me  in  my  lonely  hut  far 
up  in  the  mountains.  That  look  still  rankled 
in  my  memory.  Before  that  my  memory  had 
been  all  right.    Nothing  had  ever  rankled  in  it 

131 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

v^ery  much.  Let  the  careless  reader  who  never 
had  his  memory  rankle  in  hot  weather,  pass 
this  by.    This  story  is  not  for  him. 

After  our  first  conversation  we  did  not  meet 
again  for  three  years,  and  then  by  the  merest 
accident.  I  had  been  out  for  a  whole  after- 
noon, huntinig  an  elderly  goat  that  had  grown 
childish  and  irresponsible.  He  had  wandered 
away  and  for  several  days  I  had  been  unable 
to  find  him.  So  I  sought  for  him  till  dark- 
ness found  me  several  miles  from  my  cabin. 
I  realized  at  once  that  I  must  hurry  back,  or 
lose  my  way  and  spend  the  night  in  the  moun- 
tains. The  darkness  became  more  rapidly  ob- 
vious. My  way  became  more  and  more  un- 
certain. 

Finally  I  fell  down  an  old  prospect  shaft.  I 
then  resolved  to  remain  where  I  was  until  I 
could  decide  what  was  best  to  be  done.  If  I 
had  known  that  the  prospect  shaft  was  there, 
I  would  have  gone  another  way.  There  was 
another  way  that  I  could  have  gone,  but  it  did 
not  occur  to  me  until  too  late. 

I  hated  to  spend  the  next  few  weeks  in  the 
shaft,  for  I  had  not  locked  up  my  cabin  when 
I  left,  and  I  feared  that  some  one  might  get  in 
while  I  was  absent  and  play  on  the  piano.     I 

132 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

had  also  set  a  batch  of  bread  and  two  hens  that 
morning,  and  all  of  these  would  be  in  sad  knead  • 
of  me  before  I  could  get  my  business  into  such 
shape  that  I  could  return. 

I  could  not  tell  accurately  how  long  I  had 
been  in  the  shaft,  for  I  had  no  matches  by 
which  to  see  my  watch.  I  also  had  no  watch. 
All  at  once,  some  one  fell  down  the  shaft.  I 
knew  it  was  a  woman,  because  she  did  not 
swear  when  she  landed  at  the  bottom.  Still, 
this  could  be  accounted  for  in  another  way. 
She  was  unconscious  when  I  picked  her  up. 

I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  I  was  perfectly 
beside  myself,  and  so  was  she.  I  had  read  in 
novels  that  when  a  woman  became  uncon- 
scious people  generally  chafed  her  hands,  but 
I  did  not  know  whether  I  ought  to  chafe  the 
hands  of  a  person  to  whom  I  had  never  been 
introduced. 

I  could  have  administered  alcoholic  stmiu- 
lants  to  her,  but  I  had  neglected  to  provide 
myself  with  them  when  I  fell  down  the  shaft. 
This  should  be  a  warning  to  people  who  habit- 
ually go  around  the  country  without  alcoholic 
stimulants. 

Finally  she  breathed  a  long  sigh  and  mur- 
mured, "Where  am  I?"    I  told  her  that  I  did 

133 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

not  know,  but  wherever  it  might  be,  we  were 
safe,  and  that  whatever  she  might  say  to  me,  I 
would  promise  her,  should  go  no  farther. 

Then  there  was  a  long  pause. 

To  encourage  further  conversation  I  asked 
her  if  she  did  not  think  we  had  been  having 
a  rather  backward  spring.  She  said  we  had, 
but  she  prophesied  a  long,  open  fall. 

Then  there  was  another  pause,  after  which 
I  offered  her  a  seat  on  an  old  red  empty  powder 
can.  Still,  she  seemed  shy  and  reserved.  I 
would  make  a  remark  to  which  she  would  re- 
ply briefly,  and  then  there  would  be  a  pause 
of  a  little  over  an  hour.    Still  it  seemed  longer. 

Suddenly  the  idea  of  marriage  presented  it- 
self to  my  mind.  If  we  never  got  out  of  the 
shaft,  of  course  an  engagement  need  not  be 
announced.  No  one  had  ever  plighted  his  or 
her  troth  at  the  bottom  of  a  prospect  shaft  be- 
fore. It  was  certainly  unique,  to  say  the  least. 
I  suggested  it  to  her. 

She  demurred  to  this  on  the  ground  that  our 
acquaintance  had  been  so  brief,  and  that  we 
had  never  been  thrown  together  before.  I  told 
her  that  this  would  be  no  objection,  and  that 
my  parents  were  so  far  away  that  I  did  not 
think  they  would  make  any  trouble  about  it. 


BTIX  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

She  said  that  she  did  not  mind  her  parents 
so  much  as  she  did  the  violent  temper  of  her 
husband. 

I  asked  her  if  her  husband  had  ever  indulged 
in  polygamy.  She  replied  that  he  had,  fre- 
quently. He  had  several  previous  wives.  I 
convinced  her  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  and 
under  the  Edmunds  bill,  she  was  not  bound  to 
him.  Still  she  feared  the  consequences  of  his 
wrath. 

Then  I  suggested  a  desperate  plan.  We 
would  elope! 

I  was  now  thirty-seven  years  old,  and  yet 
had  never  eloped.  Neither  had  she.  So,  when 
the  first  streaks  of  rosy  dawn  crept  across  the 
soft,  autumnal  sky  and  touched  the  rich  and 
royal  coloring  on  the  rugged  sides  of  the  grim 
old  mountains,  we  got  out  of  the  shaft  and 
eloped. 


135 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


ON  CYCLONES. 

I  desire  to  state  that  my  position  as  United 
States  Cyclonist  for  this  Judicial  District  is 
now  vacant.  I  resigned  on  the  9th  day  of  Sep- 
tember, A.  D.  1884. 

I  have  not  the  necessary  personal  magne- 
tism to  look  a  cyclone  in  the  eye  and  make  it 
quail.  I  am  stern  and  even  haughty  in  my  in- 
tercourse with  men,  but  when  a  Manitoba  si- 
moon takes  me  by  the  brow  of  my  pantaloons 
and  throws  me  across  Township  28,  Range  18, 
West  of  the  5th  Principal  Meridian,  I  lose  my 
mental  reserve  and  become  anxious  and  even 
taciturn-  For  thirty  years  I  had  yearned  to 
see  a  grown-up  cyclone,  of  the  ring-tail-puller 
variety,  mop  up  the  green  earth  with  huge  for- 
est trees  and  make  the  landscape  look  tired. 
On  the  9th  day  of  September,  A.  D.  1884,  my 
morbid  curiositiy  was  gratified. 

As  the  people  came  out  into  the  forest  with 
lanterns  and  pulled  me  out  of  the  crotch  of  a 
;  r.sswood  tree  with  a  ''tackle  and  fall,"  I  re- 
member I  told  them  I  didn't  yearn  for  any 
more  atmospheric  phenomena.  The  old  desire 
for  a  hurricane  that  would  blow  a  cow  through 

136 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

a  penitentiary  was  satiated.  I  remember 
when  the  doctor  pried  the  bones  of  my  leg  to- 
gfether,  in  order  to  kind  of  draw  mv  attention 
away  from  the  limb,  he  asked  me  how  I  liked 
the  fall  style  of  Zephyr  in  that  locality. 

I  said  it  was  all  right,  what  there  was  of  it. 
I  said  this  in  a  tone  of  bitter  irony. 

Cyclones  are  of  two  kinds,  viz.:  the  dark 
maroon  cyclone,  and  the  iron  gray  cyclone 
with  pale  green  mane  and  tail.  It  was  the  lat- 
ter kind  I  frolicked  with  on  the  above-named 
date. 

My  brother  and  I  were  riding  along  in  the 
grand  old  forest,  and  I  had  just  been  singing 
a  few  bars  from  the  opera  of  "Whoop  'em  Up, 
Lizzie  Jane,"  when  1  noticed  that  the  wind  was 
beginning  to  sough  through  the  trees.  Soon 
after  that,  I  noticed  that  I  was  soughing 
through  the  trees  also,  and  I  am  really  no 
slouch  of  a  sougher,  either,  when  I  get  started. 

The  horse  was  hanging  by  the  breeching 
from  the  bough  of  a  large  butter-nut  tree,  wait- 
ing for  some  one  to  come  and  pick  him. 

I  did  not  see  my  brother  at  first,  but  after 
a  while  he  disengaged  himself  from  a  rail  fence 
and  came  where  I  was  hanging,  wrong  end 
up,  with  my  personal  effects  spilling  out  of  my 

1.^7 


Waiting  to  be  Picked. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

pockets.  I  told  him  that  as  soon  as  the  wind 
kind  of  softened  down,  I  wished  he  would  go 
and  pick  the  horse.  He  did  so,  and  at  mid- 
night a  party  of  friends  carried  me  into  town 
on  a  stretcher.  It  was  quite  an  ovation.  To 
think  of  a  torchlight  procession  coming  way 
out  there  into  the  woods  at  midnight,  and  car- 
rying me  into  town  on  their  shoulders  in  tri- 
umph!   And  yet  I  was  once  only  a  poor  boy! 

It  shows  what  may  be  accomplished  by  any- 
one if  he  will  persevere  and  insist  on  living  a 
different  life. 

The  cyclone  is  a  natural  phenomenon,  en- 
joying the  most  robust  health.  It  may  be  a 
pleasure  for  a  man  with  great  will  power  and 
an  iron  constitution  to  study  more  carefully 
into  the  habits  of  the  cyclone,  but  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  individually,  I  could  worry 
along  some  way  if  we  didn't  have  a  phenome- 
non in  the  house  from  one  year's  end  to  an- 
other. 

As  I  sit  here,  with  my  leg  in  a  silicate  cfsoda 
corset,  and  watch  the  merry  throng  promenad- 
ing down  the  street,  or  mingling  in  the  giddy 
torchlight  procession,  I  cannot  repress  a  feel- 
ing toward  a  cyclone  that  almost  amounts  to 
disgust. 

139 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  ARABIAN  LANGUAGE. 

The  Arabian  language  belongs  to  what  is 
called  the  Semitic  or  Shemitic  family  of  lan- 
guages, and,  when  written,  presents  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  general  riot  among  the  tadpoles 
and  wrigglers  of  the  United  States. 

The  Arabian  letter  ''jeem"  or  "jim,"  which 
corresponds  with  our  J,  resembles  some  of  the 
spectacular  wonders  seen  by  the  delirium  tre- 
mens expert.  I  do  not  know  whether  that  is 
the  reason  the  letter  is  called  jeem  or  jim,  or 
not. 

The  letter  "sheen"  or  "shin,"  which  is  some 
like  our  "sh"  in  its  effect,  is  a  very  pretty  let- 
ter, and  enough  of  them  would  make  very  at- 
tractive trimming  for  pantalets  or  other  cloth- 
ing. The  entire  Arabic  alphabet,  I  think, 
would  work  up  first-rate  into  trimming  for 
aprons,  skirts,  and  so  forth. 

Still  it  is  not  so  rich  in  variety  as  the  Chi- 
nese language.  A  Chinaman  who  desires  to 
ptiblish  a  paper  in  order  to  fill  a  long-felt  want, 
must  have  a  small  fortune  in  order  to  buy  him- 
self an  alphabet.  In  this  country  we  get  a 
press,  and  then,  if  we  have  any  money  left,  we 

140 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

lay  it  out  in  type;  but  in  China  the  editor  buys 
himself  an  alphabet  and  then  regards  the  press 
as  a  mere  annex.  If  you  go  to  a  Chinese  type- 
maker  and  ask  him  to  show  you  his  goods,  he 
will  ask  you  whether  you  want  a  two  or  a  three 
story  alphabet. 

The  Chinese  compositor  spends  most  of  his 
time  riding  up  and  down  the  elevator,  seeking 
for  letters  and  dusting  them  off  with  a  feather 
duster.  In  large  and  wealthy  offices  the  com- 
positor sits  at  his  case  with  the  copy  before 
him,  and  has  five  or  six  boys  running  from  one 
floor  to  another,  bringing  him  the  letters  of 
this  wild  and  peculiar  alphabet. 

Sometimes  they  have  to  stop  in  the  middle 
of  a  long  editorial  and  send  down  to  Hong 
Kong  and  have  a  letter  cast  specially  for  that 
editorial. 

Chinese  compositors  soon  die  from  heart 
disease,  because  they  have  to  run  up  stairs  and 
down  so  much  in  order  to  get  the  different  let- 
ters needed. 

One  large  publisher  tried  to  have  his  case 
arranged  in  a  high  building  v.ithout  floors,  so 
that  the  compositor  could  reach  each  type  by 
means  of  a  long  pole,  but  one  day  there  was  a 
slight  earthquake  shock  that  spilled  the  entire 

141 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

alphabet  out  of  the  case,  all  over  the  floor,  and 
although  that  was  ninety-seven  years  ago  last 
April  there  are  still  two  bushels  of  pi  on  the 
floor  of  that  oflice.  The  paper  employs  rat 
printers,  and  as  they  have  been  engaged  in 
assorting  and  distributing  this  mass  of  pi,  it  is 
called  rat  pi  in  China,  and  the  term  is  quite 
popular. 

When  the  editor  underscores  a  word,  the 
Chinese  compositor  charges  $9  extra  for  ital- 
icizing it.  This  is  nothing  more  than  fair,  for 
he  may  have  to  go  all  over  the  empire  and 
climb  twenty-seven  flights  of  stairs  to  find  the 
necessary  italics.  So  it  is  much  more  eco- 
nomical in  China  to  use  body  type  mostly  in 
setting  up  a  paper,  and  the  old  journalist  will 
avoid  caps  and  italics,  unless  he  is  very 
wealthy. 

Arabian  literature  is  very  rich,  and  more 
especially  so  in  verse.  ITow  the  Arabian  poets 
succeed  so  well  in  writing  their  verse  in  their 
own  language,  I  can  hardly  understand.  I  find 
it  very  difficult  to  write  poetry  which  will  be 
greedily  snapped  up  aiul  paid  for,  even  when 
written  in  the  English  language,  but  if  I  had 
to  paw  around  for  an  hour  to  get  a  button-hook 
for  the  end  of  the  fourth  line,  so  that  it  would 

142 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

rhyme  with  the  button-hook  in  the  second  Hne 
of  the  same  verse,  I  beheve  it  would  drive  me 
mad. 

The  Arabian  writer  is  very  successful  in  a 
tale  of  fiction.  He  loves  to  take  a  tale  and  re- 
write it  for  the  press  by  carefully  expunging 
the  facts.  It  is  in  lyric  and  romantic  writing 
that  he  seems  to  excel. 

The  Arabian  Nights  is  the  most  popular 
work  that  has  survived  the  harsh  touch  of  time. 
Its  age  is  not  fully  known,  and  as  the  author 
has  been  dead  several  hundred  years,  I  feel 
safe  in  saying  that  a  number  of  the  incidents 
contained  in  this  book  are  grossly  inaccurate. 

It  has  been  translated  several  times  with 
more  or  less  success  by  various  writers,  and 
some  of  the  statements  contained  in  the  book 
are  well  worthy  of  the  advanced  civilization, 
and  wild  word  painting  incident  to  a  heated 
presidential  compaign. 


143 


BILL  NYES  RED  BOOK 


VERONA. 

We  arrived  in  A'erona  day  before  yesterday. 
Most  every  one  has  heard  of  the  Two  Gentle- 
men of  Verona.  This  is  the  place  they  came 
from.  They  have  never  returned.  Verona  is 
not  noted  for  its  gentlemen  now.  Perhaps 
that  is  the  reason  I.  was  regarded  as  such  a 
curiosity  when  I  came  here. 

Verona  is  a  good  deal  older  town  than  Chi- 
cago, but  the  two  cities  have  points  of  resem- 
blance after  all.  When  the  southern  simoon 
from  the  stock  yards  is  wafted  across  the  vin- 
egar orchards  of  Chicago,  and  a  load  of  Mor- 
mon emigrants  get  out  at  the  Rock  Island  de- 
pot and  begin  to  move  around  and  squirm  and 
emit  the  fragrance  of  crushed  Limburger 
cheese,  it  reminds  one  of  Verona. 

The  sky  is  similar,  too.  At  night,  when  it  is 
raining  hard,  the  sky  of  Chicago  and  Verona  is 
not  dissimilar.  Chicago  is  the  largest  place, 
however,  and  my  sympathies  are  with  her. 
Verona  has  about  68,000  people  now,  aside 
from  myself.  This  census  includes  foreigners 
and  Indians  not  taxed. 

Verona  has  an  ancient  skating  rink,  known 
144 


BILL  NYES  RED  BOOK 

in  history  as  the  amphitheatre.  It  is  4043^  feet 
by  516  in  size,  and  the  wall  is  still  100  feet  high 
in  places.  The  people  of  \^erona  wanted  me  to 
lecture  there,  but  I  refrained.  I  was  afraid 
that  some  late  comers  might  elbow  their  way 
in  and  leave  one  end  of  the  amphitheatre  open 


The  Odors  of  Verona. 

and  then  there  woudl  be  a  draft.  I  will  speak 
more  fully  on  the  subject  of  amphitheatres  in 
another  letter.  There  isn't  room  in  this  one. 
Verona  is  noted  for  the  Capitular  library,  as 
it  is  called.  This  is  said  to  be  the  largest  col- 
lection of  rejected  manuscripts  in  the  world.    I 

145 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

stood  in  with  the  librarian  and  he  gave  me  an 
opportunity  to  examine  this  wonderful  store 
of  literary  work.  I  found  a  Virgil  that  was 
certainly  over  i,6oo  years  old.  I  also  found  a 
well  preserved  copy  of  "Beautiful  Snow."     I 


The  Next  Morning. 

read  it.  It  was  very  touching  indeed.  Experts 
said  it  was  1,700  years  old,  which  is  no  doubt 
correct.  I  am  no  judge  of  the  age  of  MSS. 
Some  can  look  at  the  teeth  of  a  literary  pro- 
duction and  tell  within  two  weeks  how  old  it 
is,  but  I  can't.     You  can  also  fool  me  on  the 

146 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

age  of  wine.  My  rule  used  to  be  to  observe 
how  old  I  felt  the  next  day  and  to  fix  that  as 
the  age  of  the  wine,  but  this  rule  I  find  is  not 
infallible.  One  time  I  found  myself  feeling 
the  next  day  as  though  I  might  be  138  years 
old,  but  on  investigation  we  found  that  the 
wine  was  extremely  new,  having  been  made 
at  a  drug  store  in  Cheyenne  that  same  day. 

Looking  these  venerable  MSS.  over,  I  no- 
ticed that  the  custom  of  writing  with  a  violet 
pencil  on  both  sides  of  a  large  foolscap  sheet, 
and  then  folding  it  in  sixteen  directions  and 
carrying  it  around  in  the  pocket  for  two  or 
three  centuries  is  not  a  late  American  inven- 
tion, as  I  had  been  led  to  suppose.    They  did  it 
in  Italy  fifteen  centuries  ago.    I  was  permitted 
also  to  examine  the   celebrated  institutes   of 
Gains.     Gains  was  a  poor  penman,  and  I  am 
convinced  from  a  close  examination  of  his  work 
that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  carrying  his  manu- 
script around  in  his  pocket  with  his  smoking 
tobacco.    The  guide  said  that  was  impossible, 
for  smoking  tobacco  was  not  introduced  into 
Italy  until  a  comparatively  late  day.     That's 
all  right,  however.     You  can't  fool  me  much 
on  the  odor  of  smoking  tobacco. 

The  churches  of  Verona  are  numerous,  and 

147 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

although  they  seem  to  me  a  little  dififefent  from 
our  own  in  many  ways,  they  resemble  ours  in 
others.  One  thing  that  pleased  me  about  the 
churches  of  Verona  was  the  total  absence  of 
the  church  fair  and  festival  as  conducted  in 
America.  Salvation  seems  to  be  handed  out  in 
Verona  without  ice  cream  and  cake,  and  the 
odor  of  sanctity  and  stewed  oysters  do  not  go 
inevitably  hand  in  hand.  I  have  already  been 
in  the  place  more  than  two  days  and  I  have  not 
yet  been  invited  to  help  lift  the  old  church  debt 
on  the  cathedral.  Perhaps  they  think  I  am  not 
wealthy,  however.  In  fact  there  is  nothing 
about  my  dress  or  manner  that  would  betray 
my  wealth.  I  have  been  in  Europe  now  six 
weeks  and  have  kept  my  secret  well.  Even  my 
most  intimate  traveling  companions  do  not 
know  that  I  am  the  Laramie  City  postmaster 
in  disguise. 

The  cathedral  is  a  most  imposing  and  mas- 
sive pile.  I  quote  this  from  the  guide  book. 
This  beautiful  structure  contains  a  baptismal 
font  cut  out  of  one  solid  block  of  stone  and 
made  for  immersion,  with  an  inside  diameter 
of  ten  feet.  A  man  nine  feet  high  could  be 
baptised  there  without  injury.  The  Veronese 
have  a  great  respect  for  water.    They  believe 

148 


r-^->-^^' 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

it  ought  not  to  be  used  for  anything  else  but 
to  wash  away  sins,  and  even  then  they  are  very 
economical  about  it. 

There  is  a  nice  picture  here  by  Titian.  It 
looks  as  though  it  had  been  left  in  the  smoke 
house  900  years  and  overlooked.  Titian 
painted  a  great  deal.  You  find  his  works  here 
ever  and  anon.  He  must  have  had  all  he  could 
do  in  Italy  in  an  early  day,  when  the  country 
was  new.  I  like  his  pictures  first  rate,  but  I 
haven't  found  one  yet  that  I  could  secure  at 
anything  like  a  bed  rock  price. 


^50 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


A  GREAT  UPHEAVAL. 

I   have   just   received   the   following   letter, 
which  I  take  the  liberty  of  publishing,  in  order 
that  good  may  come  out  of  it,  and  that  the  pub- 
lic generally  may  be  on  the  watch: 
William  Nye,  Esq. 

Dear  Sir. — There  has  been  a  great  religious 
upheaval  here,  and  great  anxiety  on  the  part 
of  our  entire  congregation,  and  I  write  to  you, 
hoping  that  you  may  have  some  suggestions 
to  ofifer  that  we  could  use  at  this  time  bene- 
ficially. 

All  the  bitter  and  irreverent  remarks  of  Bob 
Ingersoll  have  fallen  harmlessly  upon  theminds 
of  our  people.  The  flippant  sneers  and  wicked 
sarcasms  of  the  modern  infidel,  wise  in  his  own 
conceit,  have  alike  passed  over  our  heads  with- 
out damage  or  disaster.  These  times  that  have 
tried^  men's  souls  have  only  rooted  us  more 
firmly  in  the  faith,  and  united  us  more  closely 
as  brothers  and  sisters. 

We  do  not  care  whether  the  earth  was  made 
in  two  billion  years  or  two. minutes,  so  long  as 
it  was  made  and  we  are  satisfied  with  it.  We 
do  not  care  whether    Jonah    swallowed    the 

,15^ 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

whale  or  the  whale  swallowed  Jonah.  None  of 
these  things  wory  us  in  the  least.  We  do  not 
pin  our  faith  on  such  little  matters  as  those, 
but  we  try  to  so  live  that  when  we  pass  on  be- 
yond the  flood  we  may  have  a  record  to  which 
we  may  point  with  pride. 

But  last  Sabbath  our  entire  congregation  was 
visibly  moved.  People  who  had  grown  gray 
in  this  church  got  right  up  during  the  service 
and  went  out,  and  did  not  come  in  again. 
Brothers  who  had  heard  all  kinds  of  infidelity 
and  scorned  to  be  moved  by  it,  got  up,  and 
kicked  the  pews,  and  slammed  the  doors,  and 
created  a  young  riot. 

For  many  years  we  have  sailed  along  in  the 
most  peaceful  faith,  and  through  joy  or  sor- 
row we  came  to  the  church  together  to  wor- 
ship. We  have  laughed  and  wept  as  one  fam- 
ily for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  an  humble 
dignity  and  Christian  style  of  etiquette  have 
pervaded  our  incomings  and  our  outgoings. 

That  is  the  reason  why  a  clear  case  of  dis^ 
orderly  conduct  in  our  church  has  attracted 
attention  and  newspaper  comment.  That  is 
the  reason  why  v/e  want  in  some  public  way  to 
have  the  church  set  right  before  we  suflFer  from 
unjust  criticism  and  worldly  scorn. 

152 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

It  has  been  reported  that  one  of  the  brothers, 
who  is  sixty  years  of  age,  and  a  model  Cliris- 
tian,  and  a  good  provider,  rose  during  the  first 
prayer,  and,  waving  his  pkig  hat  in  the  air, 
gave  a  wild  and  blood-curdling  whoop,  jumped 
over  the  back  of  his  pew,  and  lit  out.  While 
this  is  in  a  measure  true,  it  is  not  accurate.  He 
did  do  some  wild  and  startling  jumping,  but  he 
did  not  jump  over  the  pew.  He  tried  to,  but 
failed.    He  was  too  old. 

It  has  also  been  stated  that  another  brother, 
who  has  done  more  to  build  up  the  church  and 
society  here  than  any  other  man  of  his  size, 
threw  his  hymn  book  across  the  church,  and, 
with  a  loud  wail  that  sounded  like  the  word 
"Gosh!"  hissed  through  clenched  teeth,  got 
out  through  the  window  and  went  away.  This 
is  overdrawn,  though  there  is  an  element  of 
truth  in  it,  and  I  do  not  try  to  deny  it. 

There  were  other  similar  strong  evidences  of 
feeling  throughout  the  congregation,  none  of 
which  had  ever  been  noticed  before  in  this 
place.  Our  clergyman  was  amazed  and  horri- 
fied. He  tried  to  ignore  the  action  of  the 
brethren,  but  when  a  sister  who  has  grown  old 
in  the  church,  and  been  such  a  model  and  ex- 
ample of  rectitude   that  all  the  girls  in  the 

153 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

county  were  perfectly  discouraged  about  try- 
ing to  be  anywhere  near  equal  to  her ;  when  she 
rose  with  a  wild  snort,  got  up  on  the  pew  with 
her  feet,  and  swung  her  parasol  in  a  way  that 
indicated  that  she  would  not  go  home  till  morn- 
ing, he  paused  and  briefly  wound  up  the  serv- 
ices. 

Of  course  there  were  other  little  eccentrici- 
ties on  the  part  of  the  congregation,  but  these 
were  the  ones  that  people  have  talked  about 
the  most,  and  have  done  us  the  most  damage 
abroad. 

Now,  my  desire  is  that  through  the  medium 
of  the  press  you  will  state  that  this  great  trou- 
ble which  has  come  upon  us,  by  reason  of 
which  the  ungodly  have  spoken  lightly  of  us, 
was  not  the  result  of  a  general  tendency  to  dis- 
sent from  the  statements  made  by  our  pastor, 
and  therefore  an  exhibition  of  our  disapproval 
of  his  doctrines,  but  that  the  janitor  had  started 
a  light  fire  in.  the  furnace,  and  that  had  revived 
a  large  nest  of  common,  streaked,  hotruosed 
wasps  in  the  warm  air  pipe,,  and  when  .they 
came  up  through  the  register  and  united  in  the 
services,  there  was  more  or  less  of  an  ovation. 

Sometimes  Christianity  gets  sluggish  and 
comatose,  but  not  under  the  above  circum- 

154 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

stances.  A  man  may  slum])cr  on  softly  with 
his  bosom  gently  rising-  and  falling,  and  his 
breath  coming  and  going  through  one  corner 
of  his  mouth  like  the  death  rattle  of  a  bath-tub, 
while  the  pastor  opens  out  a  new  box  of  theo- 
logical thunders  and  fills  the  air  full  of  the 
sullen  roar  of  sulphurous  waves,  licking  the 
shores  of  eternity  and  swallowing  up  the  great 
multitudes  of  the  eternally  lost;  but  when  one 
little  wasp,  with  a  red-hot  revelation,  goes 
gently  up  the  leg  of  that  same  man's  panta- 
loons, leaving  large,  hot  tracks  whenever  he 
stopped  and  sat  down  to  think  it  over,  you  will 
see  a  sudden  awakening  and  a  revival  that  will 
attract  attention. 

T  wish  that  you  would  take  this  letter,  Mr. 
Nye,  and  write  something,  from  it  in  your  own 
way,  for  publication,  showing  how  we  hap- 
pened to  have  more  zeal  than  usual  in  the 
church  last  Sabbath,  and  that  it  was  not  direct- 
ly the  result  of  the  sermon  which  was  preached 
on  that  day. 

Yours,  with  great  respect, 

WILLIAM  LEMONS. 


155 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  WEEPING  WOMAN. 

T  have  not  written  much  for  publication 
lately,  because  I  did  not  feel  well,  I  was 
fatigued.  I  took  a  ride  on  the  cars  last  week 
and  it  shook  me  up  a  good  deal. 

The  train  was  crowded  somew^hat,  and  so  I 
sat  in  a  seat  with  a  woman  who  got  aboard  at 
Minkin's  Siding.  I  noticed  as  we  pulled  out  of 
Minkin's  Siding,  that  this  woman  raised  the 
window  so  that  she  could  bid  adieu  to  a  man  in 
a  dyed  moustache.  I  do  not  know  whether 
he  was  her  dolce  far  niente,  or  her  grandson 
by  her  second  husband.  I  know  that  if  he  had 
been  a  relative  of  mine,  however,  I  would  have 
cheerfully  concealed  the  fact. 

She  waved  a  little  2x6  handkerchief  out  of 
the  window,  said  ''good-bye,"  allowed  a  fresh 
zephyr  from  Cape  Sabine  to  come  in  and  play 
a  xylophone  interlude  on  my  spinal  column, 
and  then  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  damp,  hot 
tears. 

I  had  to  go  into  another  car  for  a  moment, 
and  when  I  returned  a  pugilist  from  Chicago 
had  my  seat.  When  I  travel  I  am  uniformly 
courteous,  especially  to  pugilists.     A  pugilist 

156 


She  Sobbed  Several    More  Time* 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

who  has  started  out  as  an  obscure  boy  with  no 
money,  no  friends,  and  no  one  to  practice  on, 
except  his  wife  or  his  mother,  with  no  capital 
aside  from  his  bare  hands ;  a  man  who  has  had 
to  fight  his  way  through  life,  as  it  were,  and 
yet  who  has  come  out  of  obscurity  and  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  authorities,  and 
won  the  good  will  of  those  with  whom  he  came 
in  contact,  will  always  find  me  cordial  and 
pacific.  So  I  allowed  this  self-made  man  with 
the  broad,  high,  intellectual  shoulder  blades, 
to  sit  in  my  seat  with  his  feet  on  my  new  and 
expensive  traveling  bag,  while  I  sat  with  the 
tear-bedewed  memento  from  Minkin's  Siding. 

She  sobbed  several  more  times,  then  hove  a 
sigh  that  rattled  the  windows  in  the  car,  and 
sat  up.  I  asked  her  if  I  might  sit  by  her  side 
for  a  few  miles  and  share  her  great  sorrow. 
She  looked  at  me  askance.  I  did  not  resent  it. 
She  allowed  me  to  take  the  seat,  and  I  looked 
at  a  paper  for  a  few  moments  so  that  she  could 
look  me  over  through  the  corners  of  her  eyes. 
I  also  scrutinized  her  lineaments  some. 

She  was  dressed  up  considerably,  and,  when 
a  woman  dresses  up  to  ride  in  a  railway  train, 
she  advertises  the  fact  that  her  intellect  is  be- 
ginning to  totter  on  its  throne.     People  who 

158 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

have  more  than  one  suit  of  clothes  should  not 
pick  out  the  fine  raiment  for  traveling  pur- 
poses. This  person  was  not  handsomely 
dressed,  but  she  had  the  kind  of  clothes  that 
look  as  though  they  had  tried  to  present  the 
appearance  of  affluence  and  had  failed  to  do  so. 

This  leads  me  to  say,  in  all  seriousness,  that 
there  is  nothing  so  sad  as  the  sight  of  a  man 
or  woman  who  would  scorn  to  tell  a  wrong 
story,  but  who  will  persist  in  wearing  bogus 
clothes  and  bogus  jewelry  that  wouldn't  fool 
anybody. 

My  seat-mate  wore  a  cloak  that  had  started 
out  to  bamboozle  the  American  people  with  the 
idea  that  it  was  worth  $ioo,  but  it  wouldn't 
mislead  anyone  who  might  be  nearer  than  half 
a  mile.  I  also  discovered  that  it  had  an  air 
about  it  that  would  indicate  that  she  wore  it 
while  she  cooked  the  pancakes  and  fried  the 
doughnuts.  It  hardly  seems  possible  that  she 
would  do  this,  but  the  garment,  I  say,  had  that 
air  about  it. 

She  seemed  to  want  to  converse  after  awhile, 
and  she  began  on  the  subject  of  literature. 
Picking  up  a  volume  that  had  been  left  in  her 
seat  by  the  train  boy,  entitled:  "Shadowed  lo 
Skowhegan  and  Back;  or.  The  Child  Fiend; 

159 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

price  $2,"  we  drifted  on  pleasantly  into  the 
broad  domain  of  letters. 

Incidentally  I  asked  her  what  authors  she 
read  mostly. 

"O,  I  don't  remember  the  authors  so  much 
as  I  do  the  books,"  said  she.  "I  am  a  great 
reader.  If  I  should  tell  you  how  much  I  have 
read,  you  wouldn't  believe  it." 

I  said  I  certainly  would.  I  had  frequently 
been  called  upon  to  believe  things  that  would 
make  the  ordinary  rooster  quail. 

If  she  discovered  the  true  inwardness  of  this 
Anglo-American  "Jewdesprit,"  she  refrained 
from  saying  anything  about  it. 

"I  read  a  good  deal,"  she  continued,  "and  it 
keeps  me  all  strung  up.  I  weep,  O  so  easily." 
Just  then  she  lightly  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm, 
and  I  could  see  that  the  tears  were  rising  to 
her  eves.  I  felt  like  asking  her  if  she  had  ever 
tried  running  herself  through  a  clothes  wringer 
every  morning.  I  did  feel  that  someone  ought 
to  chirk  her  up,  so  I  asked  her  if  she  remem- 
bered the  advice  of  the  editor  who  received  a 
letter  from  a  young  lady  troubled  the  same 
way.  She  stated  that  she  couldn't  explain  it, 
but  every  little  while,  without  any  apparent 

i6o 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

cause,  she  would  shed  tears,  and  the  editor 
asked  her  why  she  didn't  lock  up  the  shed. 

We  conversed  for  a  long  time  about  litera- 
ture, but  every  little  while  she  would  get  nie  in- 
to deep  water  by  quoting  some  author  or  work 
that  I  had  never  read.  I  never  realized  what 
a  hopeless  ignoramus  I  was  till  I  heard  about 
the  scores  of  books  that  had  made  her  shed 
the  scalding,  and  yet  that  I  had  never,  never 
read.  When  she  looked  at  me  with  that  far- 
away expression  in  her  eyes,  and  with  her  hand 
resting  lightly  on  my  arm  in  such  a  way  as  to 
give  the  gorgeous  two  karat  Rhinestone  from 
Pittsburg  full  play,  and  told  me  how  such 
works  as  'The  New  Made  Grave ;  or.  The  Twin 
Murderers"  had  cost  her  many  and  many  a 
copious  tear,  I  told  her  I  was  glad  of  it.  If  it 
be  a  blessed  boon  for  the  student  of  such  books 
to  weep  at  home  and  work  up  their  honest  per- 
spiration into  scalding  tears,  far  be  it  from  me 
to  grudge  that  poor  boon. 

I  hope  that  all  who  may  read  these  lines,  and 
who  may  feel  that  the  pores  of  their  skin  are 
getting  torpid  and  sluggish,  owing  to  an  in- 
herited antipathy  toward  physical  exertion, 
and  who  feel  that  they  would  rather  work  up 
their  perspiration  into  woe  and  shed  it  in  the 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

shape  of  common  red-eyed  weep,  will  keep 
themselves  to  this  poor  boon.  People  have  dif- 
ferent ways  of  enjoying  themselves,  and  I  hope 
no  one  will  hesitate  about  accepting  this  or  any 
other  poor  boon  that  I  do  not  happen  to  be 
using  at  the  time. 


162 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  CROPS. 

I  have  just  been  through  Iowa,  Minnesota 
and  Wisconsin,  on  a  tour  of  inspection.  I  rode 
for  over  ten  days  in  these  States  in  a  sleeping- 
car,  examing  crops,  so  that  I  could  write  an  in- 
telligent report. 

Grain  in  Northern  Wisconsin  sufTered 
severely  in  the  latter  part  of  the  season  from 
rust,  chintz  bug,  Hessian  fly  and  trichina.  In 
the  St.  Croix  valley  wheat  will  not  average  a 
half  crop.  I  do  not  know  why  farmers  should 
insist  upon  leaving  their  grain  out  nights  in 
July,  when  they  know  from  the  experience  of 
former  years  that  it  will  surely  rust. 

In  Southern  Wisconsin  too  much  rain  has 
almost  destroyed  many  crops,  and  cattle  have 
been  unable  to  get  enough  to  eat,  unless  they 
were  fed,  for  several  weeks.  This  is  a  sad  out- 
look for  the  farmer  at  this  season. 

In  the  Northern  part  of  the  State  many 
fields  of  grain  were  not  worth  cutting,  while 
others  barely  yielded  the  seed,  and  even  that  of 
a  very  inferior  quality. 

The  ruta-baga  is  looking  unusually  well  this 
fall,  but  we  cannot  subsist  entirely  upon  the 

163 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ruta-baga.  It  is  juicy  and  rich  if  eaten  in  large 
quantities,  but  it  is  too  bulky  to  be  popular 
with  the  aristocracy. 

Cabbages  in  most  places  are  looking  well, 
though  in  some  quarters  I  notice  an  epidemic 
of  worms.  To  successfully  raise  the  cabbage, 
it  will  be  necessary  at  all  times  to  be  well  sup- 
plied with  vermifuge  that  can  be  readily  ad- 
ministered at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night. 

The  crook-neck  squash  in  the  Northwest  is 
a  great  success  this  season.  And  what  can  be 
more  beautiful,  as  it  calmly  lies  in  its  bower  of 
green  vines  in  the  crisp  and  golden  haze  of 
autumn,  than  the  cute  little  crook-neck  squash, 
with  yellow,  warty  skin,  all  cuddled  up  to- 
gether in  the  cool  morning,  like  the  discarded 
wife  of  an  old  Mormon  elder — his  first  attempt 
in  the  matrimonial  line,  so  to  speak,  ere  he  had 
gained  wisdom  by  experience. 

The  full-dress,  low-neck-and-short-sleeve 
summer  squash  will  be  worn  as  usual  this  fall, 
with  trimmings  of  salt  and  pepper  in  front  and 
revers  of  butter  down  the  back. 

N.  B. — It  will  not  be  used  much  as  an  out- 
side wrap,  but  will  be  worn  mostly  inside. 

Hop-poles  in  some  parts  of  Wisconsin  are 
164 


Enjoyins  Himself  at  the  Dance. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

entirely  killed.  I  suppose  that  continued  dry 
weather  in  the  early  summer  did  it. 

Hop-lice,  however,  are  looking  well.  Many 
of  our  best  hop-breeders  thought  that  when  the 
hop-pole  began  to  wither  and  die,  the  hop-louse 
could  not  survive  the  intense  dry  heat;  but  hop- 
lice  have  never  looked  better  in  this  State  than 
they  do  this  fall. 

I  can  remember  very  well  when  Wisconsin 
had  to  send  to  Ohio  for  hop-lice.  Now  she 
could  almost  supply  Ohio  and  still  have  enough 
to  fill  her  own  coffers. 

I  do  not  know  that  hop-lice  are  kept  in 
coffers,  and  I  may  be  wrong  in  speaking  thus 
freely  of  these  two  subjects,  never  having  seen 
either  a  hop-louse  or  a  coffer,  but  I  feel  that 
the  public  must  certainly  and  naturally  expect 
me  to  say  something  on  these  subjects.  Fruit 
in  the  Northwest  this  season  is  not  a  great  suc- 
cess. Aside  from  the  cranberry  and  choke- 
cherry,  the  fruit  yield  in  the  Northern  district 
is  light.  The  early  dwarf  crab,  with  or  with- 
out worms,  as  desired — but  mostly  with — is  un- 
usually poor  this  fall.  They  make  good  cider. 
This  cider  when  put  into  a  brandy  flask  that 
has  not  been  drained  too  dry,  and  allowed  to 
stand  until  Christmas,  puts  a  great  deal  of  ex- 

i66 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

pression  into  a  country  dance.  I  have  tried  it 
once  myself,  so  that  I  could  write  it  up  for  your 
valuable  paper. 

People  who  were  present  at  that  dance,  and 
who  saw  me  frolic  around  there  like  a  thini^ 
of  life,  say  that  it  was  well  worth  the  price  of 
admission.  Stone  fence  always  flies  right  to 
the  weakest  spot.  So  it  goes  right  to  my  head 
and  makes  me  eccentric. 

The  violin  virtuoso  who  "fiddled,"  "called 
oflF"  and  acted  as  justice  of  the  peace  that  even- 
ing, said  that  I  threw  aside  all  reserve  and 
entered  with  great  zest  into  the  dance,  and 
seemed  to  enjoy  it  much  better  than  those  who 
danced  in  the  same  set  with  me.  Since  that, 
the  very  sight  of  a  common  crab  apple  makes 
my  head  reel.  I  learned  afterward  that  this 
cider  had  frozen,  so  that  the  alleged  cider 
which  we  drank  that  night  was  the  clear,  old- 
fashioned  brandy,  which,  of  course,  would  not 
freeze.  , 

We  should  strive,  however,  to  lead  such  lives 
that  we  will  never  be  ashamed  to  look  a  cider 
barrel  square  in  the  bung. 


167 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


LITERARY  FREAKS. 

People  who  write  for  a  livelihood  get  some 
queer  propositions  from  those  who  have  crude 
ideas  about  the  operation  of  the  literary 
machine.  There  is  a  prevailing  idea  among 
those  who  have  never  dabbled  in  literature 
very  much,  that  the  divine  afflatus  works  a 
good  deal  like  a  corn  sheller.  This  is  erro- 
neous. 

To  put  a  bushel  of  words  into  the  hopper  and 
have  them  come  out  a  poem  or  a  sermon,  is  a 
more  complicated  process  than  it  would  seem 
to  the  casual  observer. 

I  can  hardly  be  called  literary,  though  I  ad- 
mit that  my  tastes  lie  in  that  direction,  and  yet 
I  have  had  some  singular  experiences  in  that 
line.  For  instance,  last  year  I  received  flatter- 
ing overtures  from  three  young  men  who 
wanted  me  to  write  speeches  for  them  to  de- 
liver on  the  Fourth  of  July.  They  could  do  it 
themselves,  but  hadn't  the  time.  If  I  would 
write  the  speeches  they  would  be  willing  to  re- 
vise them.  They  seemed  to  think  it  would  be 
a  good  idea  to  write  the  speeches  a  little  longer 
than  necessary  and  then  the  poorer  parts  of 

i68 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  effort  could  be  cut  out.  \'arious  prices 
were  set  on  these  efforts,  from  a  dollar  to  "the 
kindest  regards."  People  who  have  squeezed 
through  one  of  our  adult  winters  in  this  lati- 
tude, subsisting  on  kind  regards,  will  please 
communicate  with  the  writer,  stating  how  they 
like  it. 

One  gentleman,  who  was  in  the  confection- 
ery business,  wanted  a  lot  of  "humorous  no- 
tices wrote  for  to  put  into  conversation  candy." 
It  was  a  big  temptation  to  write  something 
that  would  be  in  every  lady's  mouth,  but  I  re- 
frained. Writing  gum  drop  epitaphs  may 
properly  belong  to  the  domain  of  literature, 
but  I  doubt  it.  Surely  I  do  not  want  to  be 
haughty  and  above  my  business,  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  this  is  irrelevant. 

Another  man  wanted  me  to  write  a  "piece 
for  his  boy  to  speak,"  and  if  I  would  do  so,  I 
could  come  to  his  house  some  Saturday  night 
and  stay  over  Sunday.  He  said  that  the  boy 
was  "a  perfect  little  case  to  carry  on  and  folks 
didn't  know  whether  he  would  develop  into  a 
condemb  fool  or  a  youmerist."  So  he  wanted 
a  piece  of  one  of  them  tomfoolery  kind  for  the 
little  cuss  to  speak  the  last  day  of  school. 

A  coal  dealer  who  had  risen  to  affluence  by 
169 


His  Motto. 


BILL  NYE'S  RFD  BOOK 

selling  coal  to  the  poor  by  apothecaries' 
weight,  wrote  to  ask  me  for  a  design  to  be 
used  as  a  family  crest  and  a  motto  to  emblazon 
on  his  arms.  I  told  him  I  had  run  out  of  crests, 
but  that  "weight  for  the  wagon,  we'll  all  take 
a  ride,"  would  be  a  good  motto;  or  he  might 
use  the  following:  "The  fuel  and  his  money 
are  soon  parted."  He  might  emblazon  this  on 
his  arms,  or  tattoo  it  on  any  other  part  of  his 
system  where  he  thought  it  would  be  becom- 
ing to  his  complexion.  T  never  heard  from 
him  again,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  he  was 
offended  or  not. 

Two  young  men  in  Massachusetts  wrote  me 
a  letter  in  which  they  said  they  "had  a  good 
thing  on  mother."  They  wanted  it  written  up 
in  a  facetious  vein.  They  said  that  their 
father  had  been  on  the  coast  for  a  few  weeks 
before,  engaged  in  the  eeling  industry.  Be- 
ing a  good  man,  but  partially  full,  he  had 
mingled  himself  in  the  flowing  tide  and  got 
drowned.  Finally,  after  several  days'  search, 
the  neighbors  came  in  sadly  and  told  the  old 
lady  that  they  had  found  all  that  was  mortal 
of  James,  and  there  were  two  eels  in  the  re- 
mains. They  asked  for  further  instructions 
as  to  deceased.    The  old  lady  swabbed  out  her 

171 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

weeping  eyes,  braced  herself  against  the  sink 
and  told  the  men  to  "bring  in  the  eels  and  set 
him  again." 

The  boys  thought  that  if  this  could  be  prop- 
erly written  up,  "it  would  be  a  mighty  good 
joke  on  mother."  I  was  greatly  shocked  when 
I  received  this  letter.  It  seemed  to  me  heart- 
less for  young  men  to  speak  lightly  of  their 
widowed  mother's  great  woe.  I  wrote  them 
how  I  felt  about  it,  and  rebuked  them  severely 
for  treating  their  mother's  grief  so  lightly. 
Also  for  trying  to  impose  upon  me  with  an  old 
chestnut. 


172 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


A  FATHER'S  ADVICE  TO  HIS  SON. 

My  Dear  Henry — Your  pensive  favor  of 
the  20th  inst.,  asking  for  more  means  with 
which  to  persecute  your  studies,  and  also  a 
young  man  from  Ohio,  is  at  hand  and  care- 
fully noted. 

I  would  not  be  ashamed  to  have  you  show 
the  foregoing  sentence  to  your  teacher,  if  it 
could  be  worked,  in  a  quiet  way,  so  as  not  to 
look  egotistic  on  my  part.  I  think  myself  that 
it  is  pretty  fair  for  a  man  that  never  had  any 
advantages. 

But,  Henry,  why  will  you  insist  on  fighting 
the  young  man  from  Ohio?  It  is  not  only  rude 
and  wrong,  but  you  invariably  get  licked. 
There's  where  the  enormity  of  the  thing  comes 
in. 

It  was  this  young  man  from  Ohio,  named 
Williams,  that  you  hazed  last  year,  or  at  least 
that's  what  I  gether  from  a  letter  sent  me  by 
your  warden.  He  maintains  that  you  started 
in  to  mix  Mr.  Williams  up  with  the  campus  in 
some  way,  and  that  in  some  way  Mr.  Williams 
resented  it  and  got  his  fangs  tangled  up  in  the 
bridge  of  your  nose. 

173 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

You  never  wrote  this  to  me  or  your  mother, 
but  I  know  how  busy  you  are  with  your 
studies,  and  T  hope  you  won't  ever  neglect  your 
books  just  to  write  us. 

Your  warden,  or  whoever  he  is,  said  that  Mr. 
Williams  also  hung  a  hand-painted  marine 
view  over  your  eye  and  put  an  extra  eyelid  on 
one  of  your  ears. 

I  wish  that,  if  you  get  time,  you  would  write 
us  about  it,  because,  if  there's  anything  I  can 
do  for  you  in  the  arnica  line,  I  would  be 
pleased  to  do  so. 

The  president  also  says  that  in  the  scuffle 
you  and  Mr.  Williams  swapped  belts  as  fol- 
lows, to-wit :  That  Williams  snatched  off  the 
belt  of  your  little  Norfolk  jacket,  and  then 
gave  you  one  in  the  eye. 

From  this  I  gether  that  the  old  prcz,  as  you 
faseshusly  call  him,  is  an  youmorist.  He  is 
not  a  very  good  penman,  however;  tliough,  so 
far,  his  words  have  all  been  spelled  correct. 

I  would  hate  to  see  you  permanently  injured, 
Henry,  but  I  hope  that  when  you  try  to  tramp 
on  the  toes  of  a  good  boy  simply  because  you 
are  a  seanyour  and  he  is  a  fresh,  as  you  fre- 
quently state,  that  he  will  arise  and  rip  your 
little  pleated  jacket  up  the  back  and  make  your 

1/4 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

spinal  colyum  look  like  a  corcleroy  bridge  in 
the  spring  tra  la.  (This  is  from  a  Japan  show 
I  was  to  last  week.) 

Why  should  a  seanyour  in  a  colledge  tromp 
onto  the  young  chaps  that  come  in  there  to 
learn?  Have  you  forgot  how  I  fatted  up  the 
old  cow  and  beefed  her  so  that  you  could  go 
and  monkey  with  youclid  and  algebray?  Have 
you  forgot  how  the  other  boys  pulled  you 
through  a  mill  pond  and  made  you  tobogin 
down  hill  in  a  salt  barrel  with  brads  in  it?  Do 
you  remember  how  your  mother  went  down 
there  to  nuss  you  for  two  weeks  and  I  stayed 
to  home,  and  done  my  own  work  and  the 
housework  too  and  cooked  my  own  vittles  for 
the  whole  two  weeks? 

And  now,  Henry,  you  call  yourself  a  sean- 
your, and  therefore,  because  you  are  simply 
older  in  crime,  you  want  to  muss  up  Mr.  Wil- 
liams's features  so  that  his  mother  will  have 
to  come  over  and  nuss  him.  I  am  glad  that 
your  little  pleated  coat  is  ripped  up  the  back, 
Henry,  under  the  circumstances,  and  I  am  also 
glad  that  you  are  wearing  the  belt — over  your 
ofT  eye.  If  there's  anything  I  can  do  to  add 
to  the  hilarity  of  the  occasion,  please  let  me 
know  and  I  will  tend  to  it. 

1/5 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

The  lop-horned  heifer  is  a  parent  once  more, 
and  I  am  trying  in  my  poor,  weak  way  to  learn 
her  wayward  offspring  how  to  drink  out  of  a 
patent  pail  without  pushing  your  old  father 
over  into  the  hay-mow.  He  is  a  cute  little 
quadruped,  with  a  wild  desire  to  have  fun  at 
my  expense.  He  loves  to  swaller  a  part  of  mv 
coat-tail  Sunday  morning,  when  I  am  dressed 
up,  and  then  return  it  to  me  in  a  moist  condi- 
tion. He  seems  to  know  that  when  I  address 
the  Sabbath  school  the  children  will  see  the 
joke  and  enjoy  it. 

Your  mother  is  about  the  same,  trying  in 
her  meek  way  to  adjust  herself  to  a  new  set  of 
teeth  that  are  a  size  too  large  for  her.  She  has 
one  large  bunion  in  the  roof  of  her  mouth  al- 
ready, but  is  still  resolved  to  hold  out  faithful, 
and  hopes  these  few  lines  will  find  you  enjoy- 
ing the  same  great  blessing. 

You  will  find  enclosed  a  dark-blue  money 
order  for  four  eighty-live.  It  is  money  that  I 
had  set  aside  to  pay  my  taxes,  but  there  is  no 
novelty  about  paying  taxes.  I've  done  that 
before,  so  it  don't  thrill  me  as  it  used  to. 

Give  my  congratulations  to  Mr.  Williams. 
He  has  got  the  elements  of  greatness  to  a  won- 
derful degree.     If  I  happened  to  be  participat- 

176 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ing  in  that  college  of  yours,  I  would  gently  but 
firmly  decline  to  be  tromped  onto. 
So  good-bye  for  this  time. 

YOUR  FATHER. 


-^17 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


ECCENTRICITY  IN  LUNCH. 

Over  at  Kasota  Junction,  the  other  day,  I 
found  a  living  curiosity.  He  was  a  man  of 
about  medium  height,  perhaps  45  years  of  age, 
of  a  quiet  disposition,  and  not  noticeable  or 
peculiar  in  his  general  manner.  He  runs  the 
railroad  eating  house  at  that  point,  and  the 
one  odd  characteristic  which  he  has,  makes 
him  well  known  all  through  three  or  four 
States.  I  could  not  illustrate  his  eccentricity 
any  better  than  by  relating  a  circumstance 
that  occurred  to  me  at  the  Junction  last  week. 
I  had  just  eaten  breakfast  there  and  paid  for 
it.  I  stepped  up  to  the  cigar  case  and  asked 
this  man  if  he  had  "a  rattling  good  cigar." 

Without  knowing  it  I  had  struck  the  very 
point  upon  which  this  man  seems  to  be  a 
crank,  if  you  will  allow  me  that  expression, 
though  it  doesn't  fit  very  well  in  this  place. 
He  looked  at  me  in  a  sad  and  subdued  manner 
and  said,  "No  sir;  I  haven't  a  rattling  good 
cigar  in  the  house.  I  have  some  cigars  there 
that  I  bought  for  Havana  fillers,  but  they  are 
mostly  filled  with  pieces  of  Colorado  Maduro 
overalls.     There's  a  box  over  yonder  that  I 

178 


The  Antique  Lunch. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

bought  for  good,  straight  ten-cent  cigars,  but 
they  are  only  a  chaos  of  hay  and  Flora,  Fino 
and  Damfino,  all  socked  into  a  Wisconsin 
wrapper.  Over  in  the  other  end  of  the  case  is 
a  brand  of  cigars  that  were  to  knock  the  tar  out 
of  all  other  kinds  of  weeds,  according  to  the 
urbane  rustler  who  sold  them  to  me,  and  then 
drew  on  me  before  I  could  light  one  of  them. 
Well,  instead  of  being  a  fine  Colorado  Claro 
with  a  high-priced  wrapper,  they  are  common 
Mexicano  stinkaros  in  a  Mother  Hubbard 
wrapper.  The  commercial  tourist  who  sold 
me  those  cigars  and  then  drew  on  me  at  sight 
was  a  good  deal  better  on  the  draw  than  his 
cigars  are.  If  you  will  notice,  you  will  see 
that  each  cigar  has  a  spinal  column  to  it,  and 
this  outer  debris  is  wrapped  around  it.  One 
man  bought  a  cigar  out  of  that  box  last  week. 
I  told  him,  though,  just  as  I  am  telling  you, 
that  they  were  no  good,  and  if  he  bought  one 
he  would  regret  it.  But  he  took  one  and  went 
out  on  the  veranda  to  smoke  it.  Then  he 
stepped  on  a  melon  rind  and  fell  with  great 
force  on  his  side.  When  we  picked  him  up  he 
gasped  once  or  twice  and  expired.  We  opened 
his  vest  hurriedly  and  found  that,  in  falling, 
this  bouquet  de  Gluefactoro  cigar,  with  the 

1 80 


BILL  NYFS  RED  BOOK 

Spinal  column,  had  been  driven  through  his 
breast  bone  and  had  penetrated  his  heart.  The 
wrapper  of  the  cigar  never  so  much  as 
cracked." 

"But  doesn't  it  impair  your  trade  to  run  on 
in  this  w^ild,  reckless  way  about  your  cigars." 

"It  may  at  first,  but  not  after  awhile.  I 
always  tell  people  what  my  cigars  are  made  of, 
and  then  they  can't  blame  me;  so,  after  awhile 
they  get  to  believe  what  I  say  about  them.  I 
often  wonder  that  no  cigar  man  ever  tried  this 
way  before.  I  do  just  the  same  way  about  my 
lunch  counter.  If  a  man  steps  up  and  wants  a 
fresh  ham  sandwich  I  give  it  to  him  if  I've  got 
it,  and  if  I  haven't  it  I  tell  him  so.  If  you  turn 
my  sandwiches  over,  you  will  find  the  date  of 
its  publication  on  every  one.  If  they  are  not 
fresh,  and  I  have  no  fresh  ones,  I  tell  the  cus- 
tomer that  they  are  not  so  blamed  fresh  as  the 
young  man  with  the  gauze  moustache,  but  that 
I  can  remember  very  well  when  they  were 
fresh,  and  if  his  artificial  teeth  fit  him  pretty 
vjtW  he  can  try  one! 

"It*s  just  the  same  with  boiled  eggs.  I  have 
a  rubber  dating  stamp,  and  as  soon  as  the  eggs 
are  turned  over  to  me  by  the  hen  for  inspec? 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

tion,  I  date  them.  Then  they  are  boiled  and 
another  date  in  red  is  stamped  on  them.  If 
one  of  my  clerks  should  date  an  egg  ahead,  I 
would  fire  him  too  quick. 

**On  this  account,  people  who  know  me  will 
skip  a  meal  at  Missouri  Junction,  in  order  to 
come  here  and  eat  things  that  are  not  clouded 
with  mystery.  I  do  not  keep  any  poor  stuff 
when  I  can  help  it,  but  if  I  do,  don't  conceal 
the  horrible  fact. 

''Of  course  a  new  cook  will  sometimes  smug- 
gle a  late  date  onto  a  mediaeval  egg  and  sell 
it,  but  he  has  to  change  his  name  and  flee. 

"I  suppose  that  if  every  eating  house  should 
date  everything,  and  be  square  with  the  public, 
it  would  be  an  old  story  and  wouldn't  pay; 
but  as  it  is,  no  one  trying  to  compete  with  me, 
I  do  well  out  of  it,  and  people  come  here  out 
of  curiosity  a  good  deal, 

"The  reason  I  try  to  do  right  and  win  the 
public  esteem  is  that  the  general  public  never 
did  me  any  harm  and  the  majority  of  people 
who  travel  are  a  kind  that  I  may  meet  in  a  fut- 
ure state.  I  should  hate  to  have  a  thousand 
traveling  men  holding  nuggets  of  rancid  ham 
sandwiches  under  my  nose  through  all  eternity, 
and  know  that  I  had  lied  about  it.  It's  an  honest 

182 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

fact,  if  I  knew  I'd  got  to  stand  up  and  apolo- 
gize for  my  hand-made,  all-around,  seamless 
pies,  and  quarantine  cigars,  Heaven  would  be 
no  object." 


183. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

INSOMNIA  IN  DOMESTIC  ANIMALS. 

If  there  be  one  thing  above  another  that  I 
revel  in,  it  is  science.  I  have  devoted  much  of 
my  life  to  scientific  research,  and  though  it 
hasn't  made  much  stir  in  the  scientific  world 
so  far,  I  am  positive  that  v^hen  I  am  gone  the 
scientists  of  our  day  w^ill  miss  me,  and  the  red- 
nosed  theorist  w^ill  come  and  shed  the  scalding 
tear  over  my  humble  tomb. 

My  attention  was  first  attracted  to  insomnia 
as  the  foe  of  the  domestic  animal,  by  the 
strange  appearance  of  a  favorite  dog  named 
Lucretia  Borgia.  I  did  not  name  this  animal 
Lucretia  Borgia.  He  was  named  when  I  pur- 
chased him.  In  his  eccentric  and  abnormal 
thirst  for  blood  he  favored  Lucretia,  but  in 
sex  he  did  not.  I  got  him  partly  because  he 
loved  children.  The  owner  said  Lucretia  Bor- 
gia was  an  ardent  lover  of  children,  and  I 
found  that  he  was.  He  seemed  to  love  them 
best  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  when  they  were 
tender.  He  would  have  eaten  up  a  favorite 
child  of  mine,  if  the  youngster  hadn't  left  a 
rubber  ball  in  his  pocket  which  clogged  the 
glottis  of  Lucretia  till  I  could  get  there  and 
disengage  what  was  left  of  the  child. 

184 


Exciting  Public  Curiosity. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Lucretia  soon  after  this  began  to  be  restless. 
He  would  come  to  my  casement  and  lift  up  his 
voice,  and  howl  into  the  bosom  of  the  silent 
night.     At  first  I  thought  that  he  had  found 
some  one  in  distress,  or  wanted  to  get  me  out 
of  doors  and  save  my  life.    I  went  out  several 
nights  in  a  weird  costume  that  I  had  made  up 
of  garments  belonging  to  different  members 
of  my  family.    I  dressed  carefully  in  the  dark 
and  stole  out  to  kill  the  assassin  referred  to  by 
Lucretia,  but  he  was   not  there.     Then   the 
faithful  animal  would  run  up  to  me  and  with 
almost  human,  pleading  eyes,  bark  and  run 
away  toward  a  distant  alley.     I  immediately 
decided  that  some  one  was  suffering  there.    I 
had  read  in  books  about  dogs  that  led  their 
masters  away  to  the  suffering  and  saved  peo- 
ple's lives;  so,  when  Lucretia  came  to  me  with 
his  great,  honest  eyes  and  took  little  memen- 
toes out  of  the  calf  of  my  leg,  and  then  galloped 
off  seven  or  eight  blocks,  I  followed  him  in  the 
chill  air  of  night  and  my  Mosaic  clothes.     I 
wandered  away  to  where  the  dog  stopped  be- 
hind a  Ywery  stable,  and  there  lying  in  a  shud- 
dering heap  on  the  frosty  ground,  lay  the  still, 
white  feature  of  a  soup  bone  that  had  outlived 
its  usefulness. 

i86 


BILL  NYES  RED  BOOK 

On  the  way  back,  I  met  a  physician  who  had 
been  up  town  to  swear  in  an  American  citizen 
who  would  vote  twenty-one  years  later,  if  he 
lived.  The  physician  stopped  me  and  was  go- 
ing to  take  me  to  the  home  of  the  overshoes 
when  he  discovered  who  I  was. 

You  wrap  a  tall  man,  with  a  William  H. 
Seward  nose,  in  a  flannel  robe,  cut  plain,  and 
then  put  a  plug  hat  and  a  sealskin  sacque  and 
Arctic  friendless  on  him,  and  put  him  out  in 
the  street,  under  the  gaslight,  with  his  trim, 
purple  ankles  just  revealing  themselves  as  he 
madly  gallops  after  a  hydrophobia  infested 
dog,  and  it  is  not,  after  all,  surprising  that 
people's  curiosity  should  be  a  little  bit  excited. 

I  told  the  doctor  how  Lucretia  seemed  rest- 
less nights  and  nervous  and  irritable  days,  and 
how  he  seemed  to  be  almost  a  mental  wreck, 
and  asked  him  what  the  trouble  was. 

He  said  it  was  undoubtedly  ''insomnia."  He 
said  that  it  was  a  bad  case  of  it,  too.  I  told 
him  I  thought  so  myself.  I  said  I  didn't  mind 
the  insomnia  that  Lucretia  had  so  much  as  I 
did  my  own.  I  was  getting  more  insomnia  on 
my  hands  than  I  could  use. 

He  gave  me  something  to  administer  to  Lu- 
cretia. He  said  I  must  put  it  in  a  link  of  sausage 

187 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

where  it  would  appear  that  I  didn't  want  the 
dog  to  get  it,  and  then  Lucretia  would  eat  it 
greedily. 

I  did  so.  It  worked  well  so  far  as  the  admin- 
istration of  the  remedy  was  concerned,  but  it 
was  fatal  to  my  little,  high  strung,  yearnful 
dog.  It  must  have  contained  something  of  a 
deleterious  character,  for  the  next  morning  a 
coarse  man  took  Lucretia  Borgia  by  the  tail 
and  laid  him  where  the  violets  blow.  ^lalig- 
nant  insomnia  is  fast  becoming  the  great  foe 
to  the  modern  American  dog. 


r88 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


ALONG  LAKE  SUPERIOR. 

I  have  just  returned  from  a  brief  visit  to 
Duluth.      After    strolling   along   the    Bay   of 
Naples  and  watching  old  Vesuvius  vomit  red- 
hot   mud,   vapor   and   other   campaign   docu- 
ments, Duluth  is  quite  a  change.     The  ice  in 
the  bay  at  Duluth  was  thirty-eight  inches  in 
depth  when  I  left  there  the  last  week  in  March, 
and  we  rode  across  it  with  the  utmost  impu- 
nity.   By  the  time  these  lines  fall  beneath  the 
eye  of  the  genial,  courteous  and  urbane  reader, 
the  new  railroad  bridge  across  the  bay,  over  a 
mile  and  a  half  long,  will  have  been  completed, 
so  that  you  may  ride  from  Chicago  to  Duluth 
over  the  Northwestern  and  Omaha  railroads 
with  great  comfort.    I  would  be  glad  to  digress 
here  and  tell  about  the  beauty  of  the  summer 
scenery  along  the  Omaha  road,  and  the  shy 
and  beautiful  troutlet,  and  the  dark  and  silent 
Chippewa  squawlet  and  her  little  bleached  out 
pappooselet,  were  it  not  for  the  unkind  and 
cruel   thrusts  that   I   would  invoke  from  the 
scenery  cynic  who  believes  that  a  newspaper 
man's  opinions  may  be  largely  warped  with  a 
pass. 

189 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Duluth  has  been  joked  a  good  deal,  but  she 
stands  it  first-rate  and  takes  it  good  naturedly. 
She  claims  16,000  people,  some  of  whom  I  met 
at  the  opera  house  there.  If  the  rest  of  the 
16,000  are  as  pleasant  as  those  I  conversed 
with  that  evening,  Duluth  must  be  a  pleasant 
place  to  live  in.  Duluth  has  a  very  pleasant 
and  beautiful  opera  house  that  seats  1,000  peo- 
ple. A  few  more  could  have  elbowed  their  way 
into  the  opera  house  the  evening  that  I  spoke 
there,  but  they  preferred  to  suffer  on  at  home. 

Lake  Superior  is  one  of  the  largest  aggrega- 
tions of  fresh  wetness  in  the  world,  if  not  the 
largest.  When  I  stop  to  think  that  some  day 
all  this  cold,  cold  water  will  have  to  be  ab- 
sorbed by  mankind,  it  gives  me  a  cramp  in  the 
geographical  center. 

Around  the  west  end  of  Lake  Superior  there 
is  a  string  of  towns  which  stretches  along  the 
shore  for  miles  under  one  name  or  another,  all 
waiting  for  the  boom  to  strike  and  make  the 
Northern  Chicago.  You  cannot  visit  Duluth 
or  Superior  without  feeling  that  at  any  mo- 
ment the  tide  of  trade  will  rise  and  designate 
the  point  where  the  future  metropolis  of  the 
Northern  lakes  is  to  be.  I  firmly  believe  that 
this  summer  will  decide  it,  and  my  guess  is 

190 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

that  what  is  now  known  as  West  Superior  is  to 
get  the  benefit.  For  many  years  destiny  has 
been  hovering  over  the  west  end  of  this  mighty 
lake,  and  now  the  favored  point  is  going  to  be 
designated.  DuUith  has  past  prosperity  and 
expensive  improvements  in  her  favor,  and  in 
fact  the  whole  locality  is  going  to  be  benefited, 
but  if  I  had  a  block  in  West  Superior  with  a 
roller  rink  on  it,  I  would  wear  my  best  clothes 
every  day  and  claim  to  be  a  millionaire  in  dis- 
guise. Ex-President  R.  B.  Hayes  has  a  large 
brick  block  in  Duluth,  but  he  does  not  occupy 
it.  Those  who  go  to  Duluth  hoping  to  meet 
Mr.  Hayes  will  be  bitterly  disappointed. 

The  streams  that  run  into  Lake  Superior 
are  alive  with  trout,  and  next  summer  I  pro- 
pose to  go  up  there  and  roast  until  I  have  so 
thoroughly  saturated  my  system  with  trout 
that  the  trout  bones  will  stick  out  through  my 
clothes  in  every  direction  and  people  will  re- 
gard me  as  a  beautiful  toothpick  holder. 

Still  there  will  be  a  few  left  for  those  who 
think  of  going  up  there.  All  I  will  need  will  be 
barely  enough  to  feed  Albert  Victor  and  my- 
self from  day  to  day.  People  who  have  never 
seen  a  crowned  head  with  a  peeled  nose  on  it 
are  cordially  invited  to  come  over  and  see  us 

191 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

during  office  hours.  Albert  is  not  at  all 
haughty,  and  I  intend  to  throw  aside  my  usual 
reserve  this  summer  also — for  the  time.  P. 
Wales'  son  and  I  will  be  far  from  the  cares 
that  crowd  so  thick  and  fast  on  greatness. 
People  who  come  to  our  cedar  bark  wigwam 
to  show  us  their  mosquito  bites,  will  be  re- 
ceived as  cordially  as  though  no  great  social 
chasm  yawned  between  us. 

Many  will  meet  us  in  the  depths  of  the  for- 
est and  go  away  thinking  that  we  are  just  com- 
mon plugs  of  whom  the  world  wots  not;  but 
there  is  where  they  will  fool  themselves. 

Then,  when  the  season  is  over,  we  will  come 
back  into  the  great  maelstrom  of  life,  he  to 
wait  for  his  grandmother's  overshoes  and  I  to 
thrill  waiting  millions  from  the  rostrum  with 
my  'Tale  of  the  Broncho  Cow."  And  so  it 
goes  with  us  all.  Adown  life's  rugged  path- 
way some  must  toil  on  from  daylight  to  dark 
to  earn  their  meagre  pittance  as  kings,  while 
others  are  born  to  wear  a  swallow-tail  coat 
every  evening  and  wring  tears  of  genuine  an- 
guish from  their  audiences. 

They  tell  some  rather  wide  stories  about 
people  who  have  gone  up  there  total  physical 
wrecks  and  returned  strong  and  well.     One 

192 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

man  said  that  he  knew  a  young  college  stu- 
dent, who  was  all  run  down  and  weak,  go  up 
there  on  the  Brule  and  eat  trout  and  fight 
mosquitoes  a  few  months,  and  when  he  re- 
turned to  his  Boston  home  he  was  so  stout  and 
well  and  tanned  up  that  his  parents  did  not 
know  him.  There  was  a  man  in  our  car  who 
weighed  300  pounds.  He  seemed  to  be  boiling 
out  through  his  clothes  everywhere.  He  was 
the  happiest  looking  man  I  ever  saw.  All  he 
seemed  to  do  in  this  life  was  to  sit  all  day  and 
whistle  and  laugh  and  trot  his  stomach,  first 
on  one  knee  and  then  on  the  other. 

He  said  that  he  went  up  into  the  pine  for- 
ests of  the  Great  Lake  region  a  broken-down 
hypochondriac  and  confirmed  consumptive. 
He  had  been  measured  for  a  funeral  sermon 
three  times,  he  said,  and  had  never  used  either 
of  them.  He  knew  a  clergyman  named  Bray- 
ley  who  went  up  into  that  region  with  Bright's 
justly  celebrated  disease.  He  was  so  emacia- 
ted that  he  couldn't  carry  a  watch.  The  tick- 
ing of  the  watch  rattled  his  bones  so  that  it 
made  him  nervous,  and  at  night  they  had  to 
pack  him  in  cotton  so  that  he  wouldn't  break  a 
leg  when  he  turned  over.    He  got  to  sleeping 

193 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

out  nights  on  a  bed  of  balsam  and  spruce 
boughs  and  eating  venison  and  trout. 

When  he  came  down  in  the  spring,  he  passed 
through  a  car  of  lumbermen  and  one  of  them 
put  a  warm,  wet  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  plug 
hat  for  a  joke.  There  were  a  hundred  of  these 
lumbermen  when  the  preacher  began,  and 
when  the  train  got  into  Eau  Claire  there  were 
only  three  of  them  well  enough  to  go  around 
to  the  office  and  draw  their  pay. 

This  is  just  as  the  story  was  given  to  me  and 
I  repeat  it  to  show  how  bracing  the  climate 
near  Superior  is.  Remember,  if  you  please, 
that  I  do  not  want  the  story  to  be  repeated  as 
coming  from  me,  for  I  have  nothing  left  now 
but  my  reputation  for  veracity,  and  that  has 
had  a  very  hard  winter  of  it. 


194 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


I  TRIED  MILLING. 

I  think  I  was  about  i8  years  of  age  when  I 
decided  that  I  would  be  a  miller,  with  flour  on 
my  clothes  and  a  salary  of  $200  per  month. 
This  was  not  the  first  thing  I  had  decided  to 
be,  and  afterward  changed  my  mind  about. 

I  engaged  to  learn  my  profession  of  a  man 
called  Sam  Newton,  I  believe;  at  least  I  will 
call  him  that  for  the  sake  of  argument.  My 
business  was  to  weigh  wheat,  deduct  as  much 
as  possible  on  account  of  cockle,  pigeon  grass 
and  wild  buckwheat,  and  to  chisel  the  honest 
farmer  out  of  all  he  would  stand.  This  was 
the  programme  with  Mr.  Newton;  but  I  am 
happy  to  say  that  it  met  with  its  reward,  and 
the  sheriff  afterward  operated  the  mill. 

On  stormy  days  I  did  the  book-keeping,  with 
a  scoop  shovel  behind  my  ear,  in  a  pile  of  mid- 
dlings on  the  fifth  floor.  Gradually  I  drifted 
into  doing  a  good  deal  of  this  kind  of  brain 
work.  I  would  chop  the  ice  out  of  the  turbine 
wheel  at  5  o'clock  a.  m.,  and  then  frolic  up  six 
flights  of  stairs  and  shovel  shorts  till  9  o'clock 
p.  m. 

By  shoveling  bran  and  other  vegetables  16 

195 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

hours  a  day,  a  general  knowledge  of  the  mill- 
ing business  may  be  readily  obtained.  I  used 
to  scoop  middlings  till  I  could  see  stars,  and 
then  I  would  look  out  at  the  landscape  and 
ponder. 

I  got  so  that  I  piled  up  more  ponder,  after 
a  while,  than  I  did  middlings. 

One  day  the  proprietor  came  up  stairs  and 
discovered  me  in  a  brown  study,  whereupon 
he  cursed  me  in  a  subdued  Presbyterian  way, 
abbreviated  my  salary  from  $26  per  month  to 
$18  and  reduced  me  to  the  ranks. 

Afterward  I  got  together  enough  desultory 
information  so  that  I  could  superintend  the 
feed  stone.  The  feed  stone  is  used  to  grind 
hen  feed  and  other  luxuries.  One  day  I  noticed 
an  odor  that  reminded  me  of  a  hot  overshoe 
trying  to  smother  a  glue  factory  at  the  close  of 
a  tropical  day.  I  spoke  to  the  chief  floor 
walker  of  the  mill  about  it,  and  he  said  "dod 
gammit,"  or  something  that  sounded  like  that, 
in  a  coarse  and  brutal  manner.  He  then  kicked 
my  person  in  a  rude  and  hurried  tone  of  voice, 
and  told  me  that  the  feed  stone  was  burning 
up. 

He  was  a  very  fierce  man,  with  a  violent  and 
ungovernable  temper,  and,  finding  that  I  was 

196 


He  Made  It  An  Object  For  Me  To  Go. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

only  increasing  bis  brutal  fury,  I  afterward  re- 
signed my  position.  I  talked  it  over  with  the 
proprietor,  and  both  agreed  that  it  would  be 
best.  He  agreed  to  it  before  I  did,  and  rather 
hurried  up  my  determination  to  go. 

I  rather  hated  to  go  so  soon,  but  he  made  it 
an  object  for  me  to  go,  and  I  went.  I  started 
in  with  the  idea  that  I  would  begin  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  ladder,  as  it  were,  and  gradually 
climb  to  the  bran  bin  by  my  own  exertions, 
hoping  by  honesty,  industry,  and  carrying  two 
bushels  of  wheat  up  nine  flights  of  stairs,  to 
become  a  wealthy  man,  with  corn  meal  in  my 
hair  and  cracked  wheat  in  my  coat  pocket,  but 
I  did  not  seem  to  accomplish  it. 

Instead  of  having  ink  on  my  fingers  and  a 
chastened  look  of  woe  on  my  clear-cut  Grecian 
features,  I  might  have  poured  No.  i  hard 
wheat  and  buckwheat  flour  out  of  my  long 
taper  ears  every  night,  if  I  had  stuck  to  the 
profession.  Still,  as  I  say,  it  was  for  another 
man's  best  good  that  I  resigned.  The  head 
miller  had  no  control  over  himself  and  the 
proprietor  had  rather  set  his  heart  on  my 
resignation,  so  it  was  better  that  way. 

Still  I  like  to  roll  around  in  the  bran  pile,  and 
monkey  in  the  cracked  wheat.     I  love  also  to 

tq8 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

go  out  in  the  kitchen  and  put  corn  meal  down 
the  back  of  the  cook's  neck  while  my  wife  i? 
working  a  purple  silk  Kensington  dog,  with 
navy  blue  mane  and  tail,  on  a  gothic  lambre- 
quin. 

I  can  never  cease  to  hanker  for  the  rumble 
and  grumble  of  the  busy  mill,  and  the  solemn 
murmur  of  the  millstones  and  the  machinery 
are  music  to  me.  More  so  than  the  solemn 
murmur  of  the  proprietor  used  to  be  when  he 
came  in  at  an  inopportune  moment,  and  in  that 
impromptu  and  extemporaneous  manner  of 
his,  and  found  me  admiring  the  wild  and  beau- 
tiful scenery.  He  may  have  been  a  good  miller, 
but  he  had  no  love  for  the  beautiful.  Perhaps 
that  is  why  he  was  always  so  cold  and  cruel  to- 
ward me.  My  slender,  willowy  grace  and  mel- 
low, bird-like  voice  never  seemed  to  melt  his 
stony  heart. 


199 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


OUR  FOREFATHERS. 

Seattle,  W.  T.,  December  12. — I  am  up  here 
on  the  Sound  in  two  senses.  I  rode  down  to- 
day from  Tacoma  on  the  Sound,  and  to-night 
I  shall  lecture  at  Frye's  Opera  House. 

Seattle  is  a  good  town.  The  name  lacks  po- 
etic warmth,  but  some  day  the  man  who  has 
invested  in  Seattle  real  estate  will  have  reason 
to  pat  himself  on  the  back  and  say  "ha  ha,"  or 
words  to  that  effect.  The  city  is  situated  on 
the  side  of  a  large  hill  and  commands  a  very 
fine  view  of  that  world's  most  calm  and  beauti- 
ful collection  of  water,  Puget  Sound. 

I  cannot  speak  too  highly  of  any  sheet  of 
water  on  which  I  can  ride  all  day  with  no  com- 
punction of  digestion.  He  who  has  tossed  for 
days  upon  the  briny  deep,  will  understand  this 
and  appreciate  it;  even  if  he  never  tossed  upon 
the  angry  deep,  if  it  happened  to  be  all  he  had, 
he  will  be  glad  to  know  that  the  Sound  is  a 
good  piece  of  water  to  ride  on.  The  gentle 
reader  who  has  crossed  the  raging  main  and 
borrowed  high-priced  meals  of  the  steamship 
company  for  days  and  days,  will  agree  with  me 
that  when  we  can  find  a  smooth  piece  of  water 

200 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

to  ride  on  we  should  lose  no  time  in  crossing  it. 
In  Washington  Territory  the  women  vote. 
That  is  no  novelty  to  me,  of  course,  for  I  lived 
in  Wyoming  for  seven  years  where  women 
vote,  and  I  held  office  all  the  time.  And  still 
they  say  that  female  voters  are  poor  judges  of 
men,  and  that  any  pleasing  $2  Adonis  who 
comes  along  and  asks  for  their  suffrages  will 
get  them. 

Not  much!  !  ! 

Woman  is  a  keen  and  correct  judge  of  men- 
tal and  moral  worth.  Without  stopping  to 
give  logical  reasons  for  her  course,  perhaps, 
she  still  chooses  with  unerring  judgment  at 
the  polls. 

Anyone  who  doubts  this  statement,  will  do 
well  to  go  to  the  old  poll  books  in  Wyoming 
and  examine  my  overwhelming  majorities — 
with  a  powerful  magnifier. 

I  have  just  received  from  Boston  a  warm  in- 
vitation to  be  present  in  that  city  on  Forefa- 
thers* day,  to  take  part  in  the  ceremonies  and 
join  in  the  festivities  of  that  occasion. 

Forefathers,  I  thank  you!  Though  this  re- 
ply will  not  reach  you  for  a  long  time,  perhaps, 
I  desire  to  express  to  you  my  deep  appreciation 
of  your  kindness,  and,  though  I  can  hardly  be 

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BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

regarded  as  a  forefather  myself,  I  assure  you 
that  I  sympathize  with  you. 

Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure 
than  to  be  with  you  on  this  day  of  your  general 
jubilee  and  to  talk  over  old  times  with  you. 

One  who  has  never  experienced  the  thrill  of 
genuine  joy  that  wakens  a  man  to  a  glad  real- 
ization of  the  fact  that  he  is  a  forefather,  can- 
not understand  its  full  significance.  You  alone 
know  how  it  is  yourself;  you  can  speak  from 
experience. 

In  fancy's  dim  corridors  I  see  you  stand, 
away  back  in  the  early  dawn  of  our  national 
day,  with  the  tallow  candle  drooping  and  dy- 
ing in  its  socket,  as  you  waited  for  the  physi- 
cian to  come  and  announce  to  you  that  you 
were  a  forefather. 

Forefathers,  you  have  done  well.  Others 
have  sought  to  outdo  you  and  wrest  the  laurels 
from  your  brow,  but  they  did  not  succeed.  As 
forefathers  you  have  never  been  successfully 
scooped. 

I  hope  that  you  will  keep  up  your  justly  cel- 
ebrated organization.  If  a  forefather  allows 
Ills  dues  to  get  in  arrears,  go  to  him  kindly 
and  ask  him  like  a  brother  to  put  up.  If  he 
refuses  to  do  so,  fire  him.    There  is  no  reason 

202 


BILL  NYRS  RED  BOOK 

why  a  man  should  presume  upon  his  long 
standing  as  a  forefather  to  become  insolent  to 
other  forefathers  who  are  far  his  seniors.  As 
a  rule,  I  notice  it  is  the  young  amateur  fore- 
father, who  has  only  been  so  a  few  days,  in 
fact,  who  is  arrogant  and  disobedient. 

I  have  often  wished  that  we  could  observe 
Forefathers'  day  more  generally  in  the  West. 
Why  we  should  allow  the  Eastern  cities  to  out- 
do us  in  this  matter,  while  we  hold  over  them 
in  other  ways,  I  cannot  understand.  Our 
church  sociables  and  homicides  in  the  West 
will  compare  favorably  with  those  of  the  ef- 
feter  cities  of  the  Atlantic  slope.  Our  educa- 
tional institutions  and  embezzlers  are  making 
rapid  strides,  especially  our  embezzlers.  We 
are  cultivating  a  certain  air  of  refinement  and 
haughty  reserve  which  enables  us  at  times  to 
fool  the  best  judges.  Many  of  our  Western 
people  have  been  to  the  Atlantic  seaboard  and 
remained  all  summer  without  falling  into  the 
hands  of  the  bunko  artist.  A  cow  gentleman 
friend  of  mine  who  bathed  his  plumb  limbs  in 
the  Atlantic  last  summer  during  the  day,  and 
mixed  himself  up  in  the  mazy  dance  at  night, 
told  me  on  his  return  that  he  had  enjoyed  the 

203 


BILL  xNYE'S  RED  BOOK 

summer  immensely,  but  that  he  had  returned 
financially  depressed. 

"Ah,"  said  I,  with  an  air  of  superiority 
which  1  often  assume  while  talking  to  men 
who  know  more  than  I  do,  "you  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  cultivated  confidence  man?" 

"No,  William,"  he  said  sadly,  "worse  than 
that.  I  stopped  at  a  seaside  hotel.  Had  I  gone 
to  New  York  City  and  hunted  up  the  gentle- 
manly bunko  man  and  the  Wall  street  dealer 
in  lambs'  pelts,  as  my  better  judgment  prompt- 
ed, I  might  have  returned  with  funds.  Now 
I  am  almost  insolvent.  I  begin  life  again 
with  great  sorrow,  and  the  same  old  Texas 
steer  with  which  I  went  into  the  cattle  indus- 
try five  years  ago." 

But  why  should  we,  here  in  the  West,  take 
readily  to  all  other  institutions  common  to 
the  cultured  East  and  ignore  the  forefather 
industry?  I  now  make  this  public  announce- 
nient,  and  will  stick  to  it,  viz. ;  I  will  be  one 
of  ten  full-blooded  American  citizens  to  estab- 
lish a  branch  forefather's  lodge  in  the  West, 
with  a  separate  fund  set  aside  for  the  benefit 
of  forefathers  who  are  no  longer  young.  Fore- 
fathers are  just  as  apt  to  become  old  and  help- 

204 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

less  as  anyone  else.  Young  men  who  contem- 
plate becoming  forefathers  should  remember 
this. 


205 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


IN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 

To   the   Metropolitan    Guide   Publishing   Co., 

New  York. 

Gentlemen. — I  received  the  copy  of  your 
justly  celebrated  "Guide  to  Rapid  Affluence, 
or  How  to  Acquire  Wealth  Without  Mental 
Exertion,"  price  twenty-five  cents.  It  is  a 
great  boon. 

I  have  now  had  this  book  sixteen  weeks, 
and,  as  I  am  wealthy  enough,  I  return  it.  It 
is  not  much  worn,  and  if  you  will  allow  me 
fifteen  cents  for  it,  I  would  be  very  grateful. 
It  is  not  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  fifteen  cents 
that  I  care  for  so  much,  but  I  would  like  it  as 
a  curiosity. 

The  book  is  wonderfully  graphic  and  thor- 
ough in  its  details,  and  I  was  especially 
pleased  with  its  careful  and  useful  recipe  for 
ointments.  One  style  of  ointment  spoken  of 
and  recommended  by  your  valuable  book,  is 
worthy  of  a  place  in  history.  I  made  some  of 
it  according  to  your  formula.  I  tried  it  on  a 
friend  of  mine.  He  wore  it  when  he  went 
away,  and  he  has  not  as  }-et  returned.  I  heard, 
incidentally,  that  it  adhered  to  him.     People 

206 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

who  have  examined  it  say  that  it  retains  its 
position  on  his  person  similar  to  a  birthmark. 

Your  cement  does  not  have  the  same  pc- 
cuHarity.  It  does  everything  but  adhere. 
Among  other  speciahies  it  affects  a  singular 
odor.  It  has  a  fragrance  that  ought  to  be  util- 
ized in  some  way.  Men  have  harnessed  the 
lightning,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  the  day  is 
not  far  distant  when  a  man  will  be  raised  up 


How  To  Win  Affection. 

who  can  control  this  latent  power.  Do  you 
not  think  that  possibly  you  have  made  a  mis- 
take and  got  your  ointment  and  cement  formu- 
la mixed?  •  Your  cement  certainly  smells  like 
a  corrupt  administration  in  a  warm  room. 

Your  revelations  in  the  liquor  manufacture. 
and  how  to  make  any  mixed  drink  with  one 
hand  tied,  is  well  worth  the  price  of  the  book. 
The  chapter  on  bar  etiquette  is  also  excellent. 

207 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Very  few  men  know  how  to  properly  enter  a 
bar-room  and  what  to  do  after  they  arrive. 
How  to  get  into  a  bar-room  without  attract- 
ing attention,  and  how  to  get  out  without  po- 
lice interference  are  points  upon  which  our 
American  drunkards  are  lamentably  ignorant. 

How  to  properly  address  a  bar  tender,  is 
also  a  page  that  no  student  of  good  breeding 
could  well  omit. 

I  was  greatly  surprised  to  read  how  simple 
the  manufacture  of  drinks  under  your  formula 
is.  You  construct  a  cocktail  without  liquor 
and  then  rob  intemperance  of  its  sting.  You 
also  make  all  kinds  of  liquor  without  the  use 
of  alcohol,  that  demon  under  whose  iron  heel 
thousands  of  our  sons  and  brothers  go  down 
to  death  and  delirium  annually.  Thus  you  are 
doing  a  good  work. 

You  also  unite  aloes,  tobacco  and  Rough  on 
Rats,  and,  by  a  happy  combination,  construct 
a  style  of  beer  that  is  non-intoxicating. 

No  one  could,  by  any  possible  means,  be- 
come intoxicated  on  your  justly  celebrated 
beer.  He  would  not  have  time.  Before  he 
could  get  inebriated  he  would  be  in  the  New 
Jerusalem. 

Those  who  drink  your  beer  will  not  fill 
208 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

drunkards'  graves.  They  will  close  their  ca- 
reer and  march  out  of  this  life  with  perforated 
stomachs  and  a  look  of  intense  anguish. 

Your  method  of  making  cider  without  ap- 
ples is  also  frugal  and  ingenious.  Thousands 
of  innocent  apple  worms  annually  lose  their 
lives  in  the  manufacture  of  cider.  They  are 
also,  in  most  instances,  wholly  unprepared  to 
die.  By  your  method,  a  style  of  wormless  ci- 
der is  constructed  that  would  not  fool  anyone. 
It  tastes  a  good  deal  like  rain  water  that  was 
rained  about  the  first  time  that  any  raining 
was  ever  done,  and  was  deprived  of  air  ever 
since. 

The  closing  chapter  on  the  subject  of  *'How 
to  win  the  affections  of  the  opposite  sex  at  sixty 
yards,"  is  first-rate.  It  is  wonderful  what  tri- 
umph science  and  inventions  have  wrenched 
from  obdurate  conditions!  Only  a  few  years 
ago,  a  young  man  had  to  work  hard  for  weeks 
and  months  in  order  to  win  the  love  of  a  noble 
young  woman.  Now,  with  your  valuable  and 
scholarly  work,  price  twenty-five  cents,  he 
studies  over  the  closing  chapter  an  hour  or 
two,  then  goes  out  into  society  and  gathers  in 
his  victim.  And  yet  I  do  not  grudge  the  long, 
long  hours  I  squandered  in  those  years  when 

209 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

people  were  in  heathenish  darkness.  I  had  no 
book  Hke  yours  to  tell  me  how  to  win  the  af- 
fections of  the  opposite  sex.  I  could  only 
blunder  on,  week  after  week,  and  yet  I  do  not 
regret  it.  It  was  just  the  school  I  needed.  It 
did  me  good. 

Your  book  will,  no  doubt,  be  a  good  thing 
for  those  who  now  grope,  but  I  have  groped 
so  long  that  I  have  formed  the  habit  and  pre- 
fer it.  Let  me  go  right  on  groping.  Those 
who  desire  to  win  the  affections  of  the  oppo- 
site sex  at  one  sitting,  will  do  well  to  send  two 
bits  for  your  great  work,  but  I  am  in  no  hurry. 
My  time  is  not  valuable. 


210 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


PREVENTING  A  SCANDAL. 

Boys  should  never  be  afraid  or  ashamed  to 
do  little  odd  jobs  by  which  to  acquire  money. 
Too  many  boys  are  afraid,  or  at  least  seem  to 
be  embarrassed  when  asked  to  do  chores,  and 
thus  earn  small  sums  of  money.  In  order  to 
appreciate  wealth  we  must  earn  it  ourselves. 
That  is  the  reason  I  labor.  I  do  not  need  to 
labor.  My  parents  are  still  living,  and  they 
certainly  would  not  see  me  suffer  for  the  neces- 
sities of  life.  But  life  in  that  way  would  not 
have  the  keen  relish  that  it  would  if  I  earned 
the  money  myself. 

Sawing  wood  used  to  be  a  favorite  pastime 
with  boys  twenty  years  ago.  I  remember  the 
first  money  I  ever  earned  was  by  sawing  wood. 
My  brother  and  myself  were  to  receive  $5  for 
sawing  five  cords  of  wood.  We  allowed  the 
job  to  stand,  however,  until  the  weather  got 
quite  warm,  and  then  w^e  decided  to  hire  a  for- 
eigner who  came  along  that  way  one  glorious 
summer  day  when  all  nature  seemed  tickled 
and  we  knew  that  the  fish  would  be  apt  to  bite. 
So  we  hired  the  foreigner,  and  while  he  sawed, 
we  would  bet  with  him  on  various  "dead  sure 

211 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

things"  until  he  got  the  wood  sawed,  when  he 
went  away  owing  us  fifty  cents. 

We  had  a  neighbor  who  was  very  wealthy. 
He  noticed  that  we  boys  earned  our  own 
spending  money,  and  he  yearned  to  have  his 
son  try  to  ditto.  So  he  told  the  boy  that  he 
was  going  away  for  a  few  weeks  and  that  he 
would  give  him  $2  per  cord,  or  double  price,  to 
saw  the  wood.  He  wanted  to  teach  the  boy  to 
earn  and  appreciate  his  money.  So,  when  the 
old  man  went  away,  the  boy  secured  a  colored 
man  to  do  the  job  at  $1  per  cord,  by  which 
process  the  youth  made  $10.  This  he  judi- 
ciously invested  in  clothes,  meeting  his  father 
at  the  train  in  a  new  summer  suit  and  a 
speckled  cane.  The  old  man  said  he  could  see 
by  the  sparkle  in  the  boy's  clear,  honest  eyes, 
that  healthful  exercise  was  what  boys  needed. 

When  I  was  a  boy  I  frequently  acquired 
large  sums  of  money  by  carrying  coal  up  two 
flights  of  stairs  for  wealthy  people  who  were 
too  fat  to  do  it  themselves.  This  money  I  in- 
vested from  time  to  time  in  side  shows  and 
other  zoological  attractions. 

One  day  I  saw  a  coal  cart  back  up  and  un- 
load itself  on  the  walk  in  such  a  way  as  to  in- 
dicate that  the  coal  would  have  to  be  manual- 

212 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ly  elevated  inside  the  building.  I  waited  till 
I  nearly  froze  to  death,  for  the  owner  to  come 
along  and  solicit  my  aid.  Finally  he  came. 
He  smelled  strong  of  carbolic  acid,  and  I  aft- 
erward learned  that  he  was  a  physician  and 
surgeon. 

We  haggled  over  the  price  for  some  time,  as 
I  had  to  cary  the  coal  up  two  flights  in  an  old 
waste  paper  basket  and  it  was  quite  a  task. 
Finally  we  agreed.  I  proceeded  with  the 
work.  About  dusk  I  went  up  the  last  flight 
of  stairs  with  the  last  load.  My  feet  seemed 
to  weigh  about  nineteen  pounds  apiece  and 
my  face  was  very  sombre. 

In  the  gloaming  I  saw  my  employer.  He 
was  writing  a  prescription  by  the  dim,  uncer- 
tain light.  He  told  me  to  put  the  last  basketful 
in  the  little  closet  off  the  hall  and  then  come  and 
get  my  pay.  I  took  the  coal  into  the  closet,  but 
I  do  not  know  what  I  did  with  it.  As  I  opened 
the  door  and  stepped  in,  a  tall  skeleton  got 
down  off  the  nail  and  embraced  me  like  a  prod- 
igal son.  It  fell  on  my  neck  and  draped  itself 
all  over  me.  Its  glittering  phalanges  entered 
the  bosom  of  my  gingham  shirt  and  rested 
lightly  on  the  pit  of  my  stomach.  I  could  feel 
the  pelvis  bone  in  the  small  of  my  back.    The 

213 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

room  was  dark,  but  I  did  not  light  the  gas. 
Whether  it  was  the  skeleton  of  a  lady  or  gen- 
tleman, I  never  knew;  but  I  thought,  for  the 
sake  of  my  good  name,  I  would  not  remain. 
My  good  name  and  a  strong  yearning  for  home 
were  all  that  I  had  at  that  time. 

So  I  went  home.  Afterwards,  I  learned  that 
this  physician  got  all  his  coal  carried  up  stairs 
for  nothing  in  this  way,  and  he  had  tried  to 
get  rooms  two  flights  further  up  in  the  build- 
ing, so  that  the  boys  would  have  further  to 
fall  when  they  made  their  egress. 


214 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


ABOUT  PORTRAITS. 

Hudson,  \\'is.,  August  25,  1885. 
Hon.    William   F.    \'ilas,   Postmaster-General, 

Washington,  D.  C. 

Dear  Sir. — For  some  time  1  have  been 
thinking  of  writing  to  you  and  asking  you  how 
you  were  getting  along  with  your  department 
since  I  left  it.  I  did  not  wish  to  write  to  you 
for  the  purpose  of  currying  favor  with  an  ad- 
ministration against  which  I  squandered  a  bal- 
lot last  fall.  Neither  do  I  desire  to  convey  the 
impression  that  I  would  like  to  open  a  corre- 
spondence with  you  for  the  purpose  of  killing 
time.  If  you  ever  feel  like  sitting  down  and 
answering  this  letter  in  an  off-hand  way  it 
would  please  me  very  much,  but  do  not  put 
yourself  out  to  do  so.  I  wanted  to  ask  you. 
however,  how  you  like  the  pictures  of  your- 
self recently  published  by  the  patent  insides. 
That  was  my  principal  object  in  writing. 
Having  seen  you  before  this  great  calamity 
befell  you,  I  wanted  to  inquire  whether  you 
had  really  changed  so  much.  As  I  remember 
your  face,  it  was  rather  unusually  intellectual 
and  attractive  for  a  great  man.     Great  men 

215 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

are  very  rarely  pretty.  I  guess  that,  aside 
from  yourself,  myself,  and  Mr.  Evarts,  there 
is  hardly  an  eminent  man  in  the  country  who 
would  be  considered  handsome.  But  the  en- 
graver has  done  you  a  great  injustice,  or  else 
you  have  sadly  changed  since  I  saw  you.  It 
hardly    seems    possible    that    your    nose    has 


A  No«e  on  the  Bias, 

drifted  around  to  leeward  and  swelled  up  at 
the  end,  as  the  engraver  would  have  us  believe. 
I  do  not  believe  that  in  a  few  short  months 
the  look  of  firmness  and  conscious  rectitude 
that  I  noticed  could  have  changed  to  that  of 
indecision  and  vacuity  which  we  see  in  some 
of  your  late  portraits  as  printed. 

I  saw  one  yesterday,  with  your  name  at- 
2i6 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

tachcd  to  it,  and  it  made  my  heart  ache  for 
your  family.  As  a  resident  in  your  State  I  felt 
humiliated.  Two  of  Wisconsin's  ablest  men 
have  thus  been  slaughtered  by  the  rude  broad- 
axe  of  the  engraver.  Last  fall,  Senator  Spoon- 
er,  v^'ho  is  also  a  man  with  a  first-class  head 
and  face,  was  libeled  in  this  same  reckless 
way.  It  makes  me  mad,  and  in  that  way  im- 
pairs my  usefulness.  I  am  not  a  good  citizen, 
husband  or  father  when  I  am  mad.  I  am  a  per- 
fect simoon  of  wrath  at  such  times,  and  I  am 
not  responsible  for  what  I  do. 

Nothing  can  arouse  the  indignation  of  your 
friends,  regardless  of  party,  so  much  as  the 
thought  that  while  you  are  working  so  hard  in 
the  postoffice  at  Washington  with  your  coat 
oflF,  collecting  box  rent  and  making  up  the 
Western  mail,  the  remorseless  engraver  and 
clectrotyper  are  seeking  to  down  you  by  mak- 
ing pictures  of  you  in  which  you  appear  either 
as  a  dude  or  a  tough. 

While  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  being  a 
member  of  your  party,  having  belonged  to 
what  has  been  sneeringly  alluded  to  as  the 
g.  o.  p.,  I  cannot  refrain  from  expressing  my 
sympathy  at  this  time.  Though  we  may  have 
differed  heretofore  upon  important  questions 

217 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

of  political  economy,  I  cannot  exult  over  these 
portraits.  Others  may  gloat  over  these  efforts 
to  injure  you,  but  I  do  not.  I  am  not  much  of 
a  gloater,  anyhow. 

I  leave  those  to  gloat  who  are  in  the  gloat 
business. 

Still,  it  is  one  of  the  drawbacks  incident  to 


AMorted  Physiognomy. 


greatness.  We  struggle  hard  through  life  that 
we  may  win  the  confidence  of  our  fellow-men, 
only  at  last  to  have  pictures  of  ourselves  print- 
ed and  distributed  where  they  will  injure  us. 
I  desire  to  add  before  closing  this  letter,  Mr. 
218 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Vilas,  that  with  those  who  are  acquainted  with 
you  and  know  your  sterling  worth,  these  por- 
traits will  make  no  difference.  We  will  not 
allow  them  to  influence  us  socially  or  polit- 
ically. What  the  effect  may  be  upon  offensive 
partisans  who  are  total  strangers  to  you,  I 
do  not  know. 

My  theory  in  relation  to  these  cuts  is,  that 
they  are  combined  and  interchangeable,  so 
that,  with  slight  modifications,  they  are  used 
for  all  great  men.  The  cut,  with  the  extras 
that  go  with  it,  consists  of  one  head  with  hair 
(front  view),  one  bald  head  (front  view),  one 
head  with  hair  (side  view),  one  bald  head  (side 
view),  one  pair  eyes  (with  glasses),  one  pair 
eyes  (plain),  one  Roman  nose,  one  Grecian 
nose,  one  turn-up  nose,  one  set  whiskers  (full), 
one  moustache,  one  pair  side-whiskers,  one 
chin,  one  set  large  ears,  one  set  medium  ears, 
one  set  small  ears,  one  set  shoulders,  with  col- 
lar and  necktie  for  above,  one  monkey-wrench, 
one  set  quoins,  one  galley,  one  oil-can,  one 
screwdriver.  These  different  features  are  then 
arranged  so  that  a  great  variety  of  clergymen, 
murderers,  senators,  embezzlers,  artists,  dyna- 
miters, humorists,  arsonists,  larcenists,  poets, 
statesmen,  base  ball  players,  rinkists,  pianists, 
.  ,2ig 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

capitalists,  bigamists  and  sluggists  are  easily 
represented.  No  newspaper  office  should  be 
without  them.  They  are  very  simple,  and  any 
child  can  easily  learn  to  operate  it.  They  are 
invaluable  in  all  cases,  for  no  one  knows  at 
what  moment  a  revolting  crime  may  be  com- 
mitted by  a  comparatively  unknown  man, 
whose  portrait  you  wish  to  give,  and  in  this 
age  of  rapid  political  transformations,  presen- 
tations and  combinations,  no  enterprising  pa- 
per should  delay  the  acquisition  of  a  combined 
portrait  for  the  use  of  its  readers. 

Hoping  that  you  are  well,  and  that  you  will 
at  once  proceed  to  let  no  guilty  man  escape, 
I  remain, 

Yours  truly. 

Bill  Nye. 


2J0 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  OLD  SOUTH. 

The  Old  South  Meeting  House,  in  Boston, 
is  the  most  remarkable  structure  in  many  re- 
spects to  be  found  in  that  remarkable  city. 
Always  eager  wherever  I  go  to  search  out  at 
once  the  gospel  privileges,  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at,  that  I  should  have  gone  to  the  Old 
South  the  first  day  after  I  landed  in  Boston. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  go  over  the  history 
of  the  Old  South,  except,  perhaps,  to  refresh 
the  memory  of  those  who  live  outside  of  Bos- 
ton. The  Old  South  Society  was  organized 
in  1669,  and  the  ground  on  which  the  old  meet- 
ing-house now  stands  was  given  by  Mrs.  Nor- 
ton, the  widow  of  Rev.  John  Norton,  since  de- 
ceased. The  first  structure  was  of  wood,  and 
in  1729  the  present  brick  building  succeeded  it. 
King's  Handbook  of  Boston  says:  "It  is  one 
of  the  few  historic  buildings  that  have  been 
allowed  to  remain  in  this  iconoclastic  age." 

So  it  seems  that  they  are  troubled  with  icon- 
oclasts in  Boston,  too.  I  thought  I  saw  one 
hanging  around  the  Old  South  on  the  day  I 
was  there,  and  had  a  good  notion  to  point 

221 


Mr.  Franklin   Experiments. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

him  out  to  the  authorities,  but  thought  it  was 
none  of  my  business. 

I  went  into  the  building  and  registered,  and 
then  from  force  of  habit  or  absent-mindedness 
handed  my  umbrella  over  the  counter  and 
asked  how  soon  supper  would  be  ready.  Ev- 
erybody registers,  but  very  few,  I  am  told, 
ask  how  soon  supper  will  be  ready.  The  Old 
South  is  now  run  on  the  European  plan,  how- 
ever. 

The  old  meeting-house  is  chiefly  remarkable 
for  the  associations  that  cluster  around  it.  Two 
centuries  hover  about  the  ancient  weather- 
vane  and  look  down  upon  the  visitor  when  the 
weather  is  favorable. 

Benjamin  Franklin  was  baptised  and  at- 
tended worship  here,  prior  to  his  wonderful  in- 
vention of  lightning.  Here  on  each  succeed- 
ing Sabbath  sat  the  man  who  afterwards 
snared  the  forked  lightning  with  a  string  and 
put  it  in  a  jug  for  future  generations.  Here 
Whitefield  preached  and  the  rebels  discussed 
the  tyranny  of  the  British  king.  Warren  de- 
livered his  famous  speech  here  upon  the  anni- 
versary of  the  Boston  massacre  and  the  "tea 
party"  organized  in  this  same  building.  Two 
hundred  years  ago  exactly,  the  British  used 

223 


^  BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOtC 

the  Old  South  as  a  military  riding  school,  al- 
though a  majority  of  the  people  of  Boston  were 
not  in  favor  of  it. 

It  would  be  well  to  pause  here  and  consider 
the  trying  situation  in  which  our  ancestors 
were  placed  at  that  time.  Coming  to  Massa- 
chusetts as  they  did,  at  a  time  when  the  coun- 
try was  new  and  prices  extremely  high,  they 
had  hoped  to  escape  from  oppression  and  es- 
tablish themselves  so  far  away  from  the  tyrant 
that  he  could  not  come  over  here  and  disturb 
them  without  suffering  from  the  extreme  nau- 
sea incident  to  a  long  sea  voyage.  Alas,  how- 
ever, when  they  landed  at  Plymouth  rock, 
there  was  not  a  decent  hotel  in  the  place.  The 
same  stern  and  rock-bound  coast  which  may 
be  discovered  along  the  Atlantic  sea-board  to- 
day was  there,  and  a  cruel  and  relentless  sky 
frowned  upon  their  endeavors. 

Where  prosperous  cities  now  flaunt  to  the 
sky  their  proud  domes  and  floating  debts,  the 
rank  jimson  weed  nodded  in  the  wind  and  the 
pumpkin  pie  of  to-day  still  slumbered  in  the 
bosom  of  the  future.  What  glorious  facts 
have,  under  the  benign  influence  of  fostering 
centuries,  been  born  of  apparent  impossibility. 
What  giant  certainties  have  grown  through 

224 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

these  years  from  the  seeds  of  doubt  and  dis- 
couragement and  uncertainty!  (Big  fire- 
crackers and  applause.) 

At  that  time  our  ancestors  had  but  timidly 
embarked  in  the  forefather  business.  They 
did  not  know  that  future  generations  in  four- 
button  cutaways  would  rise  up  and  call  them 
blessed  and  pass  resolutions  of  respect  on  their 
untimely  death.  It  they  stayed  at  home  the 
king  taxed  them  all  out  of  shape,  and  if  they 
went  out  of  Boston  a  few  rods  to  get  enough 
huckleberries  for  breakfast,  they  would  fre- 
quently come  home  so  full  of  Indian  arrows 
that  they  could  not  get  through  a  common 
door  without  great  pain. 

Such  was  the  early  history  of  the  country 
where  now  cultivation  and  education  and  re- 
finement run  rampant  and  people  sit  up  all 
night  to  print  newspapers  so  that  we  can  have 
them  in  the  morning. 

The  land  on  which  the  Old  South  stands  is 
very  valuable  for  business  purposes,  and  $400,- 
000  will  have  to  be  raised  in  order  to  preserve 
the  old  landmark  to  future  generations.  I 
earnestly  hope  that  it  will  be  secured,  and  that 
the  old  meeting-house — dear  not  alone  to  the 
people  of  Boston,  but  to  the  millions  of  Amer- 

22  s 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

icans  scattered  from  sea  to  sea,  who  cannot 
forget  where  first  universal  freedom  plumed 
its  wings —  will  be  spared  to  entertain  within 
it  hospitable  walls,  enthusiastic  and  reveren- 
tial visitors  for  ages  without  end. 


326 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  PEN. 

When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  it  is  surpris- 
ing that  so  many  newspaper  men  write  so  that 
anyone  but  an  expert  can  read  it.  The  rapid 
and  voluminous  work,  especially  of  daily  jour- 
nalism, knocks  the  beautiful  business  college 
penman,  as  a  rule,  higher  than  a  kite.  I  still 
have  specimens  of  my  own  handwriting  that 
a  total  stranger  could  read. 

I  do  not  remember  a  newspaper  acquaint- 
ance whose  penmanship  is  so  characteristic  of 
the  exacting  neatness  and  sharp,  clear-cut  style 
of  the  man,  as  that  of  Eugene  Field,  of  the 
Chicago  News.  As  the  "Nonpareil  Writer" 
of  the  Denver  Tribune,  it  was  a  mystery  to  me 
when  he  did  the  work  which  the  paper  showed 
each  day  as  his  own.  You  would  sometimes 
find  him  at  his  desk,  writing  on  large  sheets 
of  ''print  paper"  with  a  pen  and  violet  ink,  in 
a  hand  that  was  as  delicate  as  the  steel  plate 
of  a  bank  note  and  the  kind  of  work  that  print- 
ers would  skirmish  for.  He  would  ask  you  to 
sit  down  in  the  chair  opposite  his  desk,  which 
had  two  or  three  old  exchanges  thrown  on  it. 
He  would  probably  say,  "Never  mind   those 

227 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

papers.  I've  read  them.  Just  sit  down  on 
them  if  you  want  to."  Encouraged  by  his 
hearty  manner,  you  would  sit  down,  and 
you  would  continue  to  sit  down  till  you 
had  protruded  about  three-fourths  of  your 
system  through  that  hollow  mockery  of  a 
chair.  Then  he  would  run  to  help  you  out  and 
curse  the  chair,  and  feel  pained  because  he  had 
erroneously  given  you  the  ruin  with  no  seat  to 
it.  He  always  felt  pained  over  such  things. 
He  always  suffered  keenly  and  felt  shocked 
over  the  accident  until  you  had  gone  away, 
and  then  he  would  sigh  heavily  and  "set"  the 
chair  again. 

Frank  Pixley,  editor  of  the  San  Francisco 
Argonaut,  is  not  beautiful,  though  the  Argo- 
naut is.  He  is  grim  and  rather  on  the  Moses 
Montefiore  style  of  countenance,  but  his  hand- 
writing does  not  convey  the  idea  of  the  man 
personally,  or  his  style  of  dealing  with  the  Chi- 
nese question.  It  is  rather  young  looking,  and 
has  the  uncertain  manner  of  an  eighteen-year- 
old  boy. 

Robert  J.  Burdette  writs  a  small  but  plain 
hand,  though  he  sometimes  suffers  from  the 
savage  typographical  error  that  steals  forth  at 
such  a  moment  as  yc  think  not  and  disfigures 

22^ 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

and  tears  and  mangles  the  bright  eyed  chil- 
dren of  the  brain. 

Very  often  we  read  a  man's  work  and  imag- 
ine we  shall  find  him  like  it,  cheery,  bright 
and  entertainng,  but  we  know  him  and  find 
that  personally  he  is  a  refrigerator,  or  an  ego- 
tist, or  a  man  with  a  torpid  liver  and  a  nose 


The   Ruin. 


like  a  rose  geranium.  You  will  not  be  disap- 
pointed in  Bob  Burdette,  however;  you  think 
you  will  like  him,  and  you  always  do.  He  will 
never  be  too  famous  to  be  a  gentleman. 

George  W.  Peck's  hand  is  of  the  free  and 
independent  order  of  chirography.  It  is  easv 
and  natural,  but  not    handsome.     He    writes 

229 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

very  voluminously,  doing  his  editorial  writing 
in  two  days  of  the  week,  generally  Friday  and 
Saturday.  Then  he  takes  a  rapid  horse,  a  zeal- 
ous bird  dog  and  an  improved  double-barrel 
duck  destroyer  and  communes  with  nature. 

Sam  Davis,  an  old  time  Californian,  and  now 
in  Nevada,  writes  the  freest  of  any  penman  I 
know.  When  he  is  deliberate,  he  may  be  be- 
trayed into  making  a  deformed  letter  and  a 
crooked  mark  attached  to  it,  which  he  char- 
acterizes as  a  word.  He  puts  a  lot  of  these 
together  and  actually  pays  postage  on  the  col- 
lection under  the  delusion  that  it  is  a  letter, 
that  it  will  reach  its  destination,  and  that  it 
will  accomplish  its  object. 

He  makes  up  for  his  bad  writing,  however, 
by  being  an  unpublished  volume  of  old  time 
anecdotes  and  funny  experiences. 

Goodwin,  of  the  old  Territorial  Enterprise, 
and  Mark  Twain's  old  employer,  writes  with 
a  pencil  in  a  methodical  manner  and  very  plain- 
ly. The  way  he  sharpens  a  "hard  medium" 
lead  pencil  and  skins  the  apostle  of  the  so- 
called  Church  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Latter  Day 
Saints,  makes  my  heart  glad.  Hardly  a  day 
passes  that  his  life  is  not  threatened  by  the 
low  browed  thumpers  of  Mormondom,  and  yet 

230 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  old  war  horse  raises  the  standard  of  monog- 
amy and  under  the  motto,  "One  country,  one 
flag  and  one  wife  at  a  time,"  he  smokes  his  old 
meerschaum  pipe  and  writes  a  column  of  razor 
blades  every  day.  He  is  the  buzz  saw  upon 
which  polygamy  has  tried  to  sit.  Fighting 
these  rotten  institutions  hand  to  hand  and 
fighting  a  religious  eccentricity  through  an  an- 
nual message,  or  a  feeble  act  of  congress,  are 
two  separate  and  distinct  things. 

If  I  had  a  little  more  confidence  in  my  lon- 
gevity than  I  now  have,  I  would  go  down  there 
to  the  Valley  of  the  Jordan,  and  I  would  gird 
up  my  loins,  and  I  would  write  with  that  lonely 
warrior  at  Salt  Lake,  and  with  the  aid  and  en- 
couragement of  our  brethren  of  the  press  who 
do  not  favor  the  right  of  one  man  to  marry  an 
old  woman's  home,  we  would  rotten  egg  the 
bogus  Temple  of  Zion  till  the  civilized  world, 
with  a  patent  clothes  pin  on  its  nose,  would 
come  and  see  what  was  the  matter. 

I  see  that  my  zeal  has  led  me  away  from  my 
original  subject,  but  I  haven't  time  to  regret 
it  now. 


231 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

THE  WILD  COW. 

When  I  was  young  and  used  to  roam  around 
over  the  country  gathering  watermelons  in 
the  light  of  the  moon,  I  used  to  think  I  could 
milk  anybody's  cow,  but  I  do  not  think  so  now. 
I  do  not  milk  a  cow  now  unless  the  sign  is  right, 
and  it  hasn't  been  right  for  a  good  many  years. 
The  last  cow  I  tried  to  milk  was  a  common 
cow,  born  in  obscurity;  kind  of  a  self-made 
cow.  I  remember  her  brow  was  low,  but  she 
wore  her  tail  high  and  she  was  haughty,  oh, 
so  haughty. 

I  made  a  common-place  remark  to  her,  one 
that  is  used  in  the  very  best  of  society,  one 
that  need  not  have  given  ofifense  anywhere. 
I  said  "So"— and  she  "soed."  Then  I  told  her 
to  "hist"  and  she  histed.  But  I  thought  she 
overdid  it.    She  put  too  much  expression  in  it. 

Just  then  I  heard  something  crash  through 
the  window  of  the  barn  and  fall  with  a  dull, 
sickening  thud  on  the  outside.  The  neighbors 
came  to  see  what  it  was  that  caused  the  noise. 
They  found  that  I  had  done  it  in  getting 
through  the  window. 

I  asked  the  neighbor  if  the  barn  was  still 
232 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

standing.  They  said  it  was.  Then  I  asked  if 
the  cow  was  injured  much.  They  said  she 
seemed  to  be  quite  robust.  Then  I  requested 
them  to  go  in  and  cahn  the  cow  a  little,  and 
see  if  they  could  get  my  plug  hat  off  her  horns. 
I  am  buying  all  my  milk  now  of  a  milkman. 
I  select  a  gentle  milkman  who  will  not  kick, 
and  feel  as  though  I  could  trust  him.  Then, 
if  he  feels  as  though  he  could  trust  me,  it  is 
all  right 


234 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


SPINAL  MENINGITIS. 

So  many  people  have  shown  a  pardonable 
curiosity  about  the  above  named  disease,  and 
so  few  have  a  very  clear  idea  of  the  thrill  of 
pleasure  it  affords  the  patient,  unless  they  have 
enjoyed  it  themselves,  that  I  have  decided  to 
briefly  say  something  in  answer  to  the  innu- 
merable inquiries  I  have  received. 

Up  to  the  moment  I  had  a  notion  Oi  getting 
some  meningitis,  I  had  never  employed  a  phy- 
sician. Since  then  I  have  been  thrown  in  their 
society  a  great  deal.  Most  of  them  were  very 
pleasant  and  scholarly  g^entlemen,  who  will 
not  soon  be  forgotten ;  but  one  of  them  doc- 
tored me  first  for  pnetimonia,  then  for  inflam- 
matory rheumatism,  and  finally,  when  death 
was  contiguous,  advised  me  that  I  must  have 
change  of  scene  and  rest. 

I  told  him  that  if  he  kept  on  prescribing  for 
me,  I  thought  I  might  depend  on  both.  Change 
of  physicians,  however,  saved  my  life.  This 
horse  doctor,  a  few  weeks  afterward,  admin- 
istered a  subcutaneous  morphine  squirt  in  the 
arm  of  a  healthy  servant  girl  because  she  had 
the  headache,  and  she  is  now  with  the  rest  of 

235 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

this  veterinarian's  patients  in  a  land  that  is 
fairer  than  this. 

She  lived  six  hours  after  she  was  prescribed 
for.  He  gave  her  change  of  scene  and  rest. 
He  has  quite  a  thriving  little  cemetery  filled 
with  people  who  have  succeeded  in  cording  up 
enough  of  his  change  of  scene  and  rest  to  last 
them  through  all  eternity.  He  was  called  once 
to  prescribe  for  a  man  whose  head  had  been 
caved  in  by  a  stone  match-box,  and,  after  treat- 
ing the  man  for  asthma  and  blind  staggers,  he 
prescribed  rest  and  change  of  scene  for  him, 
too.  The  poor  asthmatic  is  now  breathing  the 
extremely  rarefied  air  of  the  New  Jerusalem. 

Meningitis  is  derived  from  the  Latin  Men- 
inges, membrane,  and — ifis,  an  affix  denoting 
inflammation,  so  that,  strictly  speaking,  men- 
ingitis is  the  inflammation  of  a  membrane,  and 
when  applied  to  the  spine,  or  cerebrum,  is 
called  spinal  meningitis,  or  cerebro-spinal  men- 
ingitis, etc.,  according  to  the  part  of  the  spine 
or  brain  involved  in  the  inflammation.  Men- 
ingitis is  a  characteristic  and  result  of  so- 
called  spotted  fever,  and  by  many  it  is  deemed 
identical  with  it. 

When  we  come  to  consider  that  the  spinal 
cord,  or  marrow,  runs  down  through  the  long, 

236 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

bony  shaft  made  by  the  vertebrae  and  that  the 
brain  and  spine,  though  connected,  are  bound 
up  in  one  continuous  bony  wall  and  covered 
with  this  inflamed  membrane,  it  is  not  difficult 
to  understand  that  the  thing  is  very  hard  to 
get  at.  If  your  throat  gets  inflamed,  a  doctor 
asks  you  to  run  your  tongue  out  into  society 
about  a  yard  and  a  half,  and  he  pries  your 
mouth  open  with  one  of  Rogers  Brothers' 
spoon  handles.  Then  he  is  able  to  examine  your 
throat  as  he  would  a  page  of  the  Congres- 
sional Record,  and  to  treat  it  with  some  local 
application.  When  you  have  spinal  menin- 
gitis, however,  the  doctor  tackles  you  with 
bromides,  ergots,  ammonia,  iodine,  chloral 
hydrate,  codi,  bromide  of  ammonia,  hasheesh, 
bismuth,  valerianate  of  ammonia,  morphine 
sulph.,  nux  vomica,  turpentine  emulsion,  vox 
humana,  rex  magnus,  opium,  cantharides, 
Dover's  powders,  and  other  bric-a  brae.  These 
remedies  are  masticated  and  acted  upon  by 
the  salivary  glands,  passed  down  the  esop- 
hagus, thrown  into  the  society  of  old  gastric, 
submitted  to  the  peculiar  mo;ion  of  the  stom- 
ach and  thoroughly  chymified,  then  for- 
warded through  the  pyloric  orifice  into  the 
smaller  intestines,  where  they  are  touched  up 

237 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

with  bile,  and  later  on  handed  over  through 
the  lacteals,  thoracic  duct,  etc.,  to  the  vast 
circulatory  system.  Here  it  is  yanked  back 
and  forth  through  the  heart,  lungs  and  capil- 
laries, and  if  anything  is  left  to  fork  over  to  the 
disease,  it  has  to  squeeze  into  the  long,  bony, 
air-tight  socket  that  holds  the  spinal  cord. 
All  this  is  done  without  seeing  the  patient's 
spinal  cord  before  or  after  taking.  If  it  could 
be  taken  out,  and  hung  over  a  clothes  line  and 
cleansed  with  benzine,  and  then  treated  with 
insect  powder,  or  rolled  in  corn  meal,  or  pre- 
served in  alcohol,  and  then  put  back,  it  would 
be  all  right;  but  you  can't.  You  pull  a  man's 
spine  out  of  his  system  and  he  is  bound  to  miss 
it,  no  matter  how  careful  you  have  been  about 
it.  It  is  difficult  to  keep  house  without  the 
spine.  You  need  it  every  time  you  cook  a 
meal.  If  the  spinal  cord  could  be  pulled  by 
a  dentist  and  put  away  in  pounded  ice  every 
time  it  gets  a  hot-box,  spinal  meningitis  would 
lose  its  stinger. 

I  was  treated  by  thirteen  physicians,  whose 
names  I  may  give  in  a  future  article.  They 
were,  as  I  said,  men  I  shall  long  remember. 
One  of  them  said  very  sensibly  that  menin- 
gitis was  generally  over-doctored.     I  told  him 

238 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

that  I  agreed  with  him.  T  said  that  if  I  should 
have  another  year  of  meningitis  and  thirteen 
more  doctors,  I  would  have  to  postpone  my 
trip  to  Europe,  where  I  had  hoped  to  go  and 
cultivate  my  voice.  I've  got  a  perfectly  lovely 
voice,  if  I  could  take  it  to  Europe  and  have  it 
sand-papered  and  varnished,  and  mellowed 
down  with  beer  and  bologna. 

But  I  was  speaking  of  my  physicians.  Some 
time  I'm  going  to  give  their  biographies  and 
portraits,  as  they  did  those  of  Dr.  Bliss,  Dr. 
Barnes  and  others.  Next  year,  if  I  can  get 
railroad  rates,  I  am  going  to  hold  a  reunion  of 
my  physicians  in  Chicago.  It  will  be  a  pleas- 
ant relaxation  for  them,  and  will  save  the  lives 
of  a  large  percentage  of  their  patients. 


239 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


SKIMMING  THE  MILKY  WAY. 
The  Comet. 

The  comet  is  a  kind  of  astronomical  parody 
on  the  planet.  Comets  look  some  like  planets, 
but  they  are  thinner  and  do  not  hurt  so  hard 
when  they  hit  anybody  as  a  planet  does.  The 
comet  was  so  called  because  it  had  hair  on  it, 
I  believe,  but  late  years  the  bald-headed  comet 
is  giving  just  as  good  satisfaction  everywhere. 

The  characteristic  features  of  a  comet  are: 
A  nucleus,  a  nebulous  light  or  coma,  and  usual- 
ly a  luminous  train  or  tail  worn  high.  Some- 
times several  tails  are  observed  on  one  comet, 
but  this  occurs  only  in  flush  times. 

When  I  was  young  I  used  to  think  I  would 
like  to  be  a  comet  in  the  sky,  up  above  the 
world  so  high,  with  nothing  to  do  but  loaf 
around  and  play  with  the  little  new-laid  plan- 
ets and  have  a  good  time,  but  now  I  can  see 
where  I  was  wrong.  Comets  also  have  their 
troubles,  their  perihilions,  their  hyperbolas 
and  their  parabolas.  A  little  over  300  years 
ago  Tycho  Brahe  discovered  that  comets  were 
extraneous  to  our  atmosphere,  and  since  then 
times  have  improved.     I  can  see  that  trade  is 

240 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

steadier  and  potatoes  run  less  to  tows  than 
they  did  before. 

Soon  after  that  they  discovered  that  comcis 
all  had  more  or  less  periodicity.  Xobody 
knows  how  they  got  it.  All  the  astronomers 
had  been  watching  them  day  and  night  and 


Tycho  Brahe  At  Work. 

didn't  know  when  they  were  exposed,  but 
there  was  no  time  to  talk  and  argue  over  the 
question.  There  were  two  or  three  hundred 
comets  all  down  with  it  at  once.  It  was  an 
exciting  time. 

Comets  sometimes  live  to  a  great  age.    This 
241 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

shows  that  the  night  air  is  not  so  injurious  to 
the  health  as  many  people  would  have  us  be- 
lieve. The  great  comet  of  1780  is  supposed  to 
have  been  the  one  that  was  noticed  about  the 
time  of  Caesar's  death,  44  B.  C,  and  still,  when 
it  appeared  in  Newton's  time,  seventeen  hun- 
dred years  after  its  first  grand  farewell  tour, 
Tke  said  that  it  was  very  well  preserved,  in- 
deed, and  seemed  to  have  retained  all  its  fac- 
ulties in  good  shape. 

Astronomers  say  that  the  tails  of  all  comets 
are  turned  from  the  sun.  T  do  not  know  why 
they  do  this,  whether  it  is  etiquette  among 
them  or  just  a  mere  habit. 

A  later  writer  on  astronomy  said  that  the 
substance  of  the  nebulosity  and  the  tail  is  of 
almost  inconceivable  tenuity.  He  said  this 
and  then  death  came  to  his  relief.  Another 
writer  says  of  the  comet  and  its  tail  that  *'the 
curvature  of  the  latter  and  the  acceleration  of 
the  periodic  time  in  the  case  of  Encke's  comet 
indicate  their  being  affected  by  a  resisting  me- 
dium which  has  never  been  observed  to  have 
the  slightest  influence  on  the  planetary  peri- 
ods." 

T  do  not  fully  agree  with  the  eminent  author- 
ity, though  he  may  be  right.     Much  fear  has 

242 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

been  the  result  of  the  comet's  appearance  ever 
since  the  world  began,  and  it  is  as  good  a  thing 
to  worry  al)out  as  anything  I  know  of.  If  we 
could  get  close  to  a  comet  without  frightening 
it  away,  we  would  find  that  we  could  walk 
through  it  anywhere  as  we  could  through  the 
glare  of  a  torchlight  procession.  We  should  so 
live  that  we  will  not  be  ashamed  to  look  a 
comet  in  the  eye,  however.  Let  us  pay  up  our 
newspaper  subscription  and  lead  such  lives 
that  when  the  comet  strikes  we  will  be  ready. 
Some  worry  a  good  deal  about  the  chances 
for  a  big  comet  to  plow  into  the  sun  some  dark, 
rainy  night,  and  thus  bust  up  the  whole  uni- 
verse. I  wish  that  was  all  I  had  to  worry 
about.  If  any  respectable  man  will  agree  to 
pay  my  taxes  and  funeral  expenses,  I  will 
agree  to  do  his  worrying  about  the  comet's 
crashing  into  the  bosom  of  the  sun  and  knock- 
ing its  daylights  out. 

The  Sun. 

This  luminous  body  is  92,000,000  miles  from 
the  earth,  though  there  have  been  mornings 
this  winter  when  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  was 
further  than  t!\at.  A  railway  train  going  at 
the  rate  of  40  miles  per  hour  would  be  263 

243 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

years  going  there,  to  say  nothing  of  stopping 
for  fuel  or  water,  or  stopping  on  side  tracks  to 
wait  for  freight  trains  to  pass.  Several  years 
ago  it  was  discovered  that  a  slight  error  had 
been  made  in  the  calculations  of  the  sun's  dis- 
tance from  the  earth,  and,  owing  to  a  mis- 
placed logarithm,  or  something  of  that  kind, 
a  mistake  of  3,000,000  miles  was  made  in  the 
result.  People  cannot  be  too  careful  in  such 
matters.  Supposing  that,  on  the  strength  of 
the  information  contained  in  the  old  time- 
table, a  man  should  start  out  with  only  pro- 
visions sufficient  to  take  him  89,000,000  miles 
and  should  then  find  that  3,000,000  miles  still 
stretched  out  ahead  of  him.  He  would  then 
have  to  buy  fresh  figs  of  the  train  boy  in  order 
to  sustain  life.  Think  of  buying  nice  fresh  figs 
on  a  train  that  had  been  en  route  250  years! 

Imagine  a  train  boy  starting  out  at  ten  years 
of  age,  and  perishing  at  the  age  of  60  years 
with  only  one-fifth  of  his  journey  accomplished. 
Think  of  five  train  boys,  one  after  the  other, 
dying  of  old  age  on  the  way,  and  the  train 
at  last  pulling  slowly  into  the  depot  with  not 
a  living  thing  on  board  except  the  worms  in 
the  "nice  eating  apples!" 

The  sun  cannot  be  examined  through  an 
244 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ordinary  telescope  with  impunity.  Only  one 
man  ever  tried  that,  and  he  is  now  wearing 
a  glass  eye  that  cost  him  $9. 

If  you  examine  the  sun  through  an  ordinary 
solar  microscope,  you  discover  that  it  has  a 
curdled  or  mottled  appearance,  as  though  suf- 


fering from  biliousness.  It  is  also  marked 
here  and  there  by  long  streaks  of  light,  called 
faculae,  which  look  like  foam  flecks  below  a 
cataract.  The  spots  on  the  sun  vary  from 
minute  pores  the  size  of  an  ordinary  school 
district  to  spots  100,000  miles  in  diameter, 
visible  to  the  nude  eye.  The  center  of  these 
spots  is  as  black  as  a  brunette  cat,  and  is  called 

245 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  umbra,  so  called  because  is  resembles  an 
umbrella.  The  next  circle  is  less  dark,  and 
called  the  penumbra,  because  it  so  closely  re- 
sembles the  penumbra. 

There  are  many  theories  regarding  these 
spots,  but,  to  be  perfectly  candid  with  the 
gentle  reader,  neither  Prof.  Proctor  nor  my- 
self can  tell  exactly  what  they  are.  If  we 
could  get  a  little  closer,  we  flatter  ourselves 
that  we  could  speak  more  definitely.  My  own 
theory  is  they  are  either,  first,  open  air 
caucuses  held  by  the  colored  people  of  the 
sun;  or,  second,  they  may  be  the  dark  horses 
in  the  campaign;  or,  third,  they  may  be  the 
spots  knocked  ofif  the  defeated  candidate  by 
the  opposition. 

Frankly,  however,  I  do  not  believe  either 
of  these  theories  to  be  tenable.  Prof.  Proctor 
sneers  at  these  theories  also  on  the  ground 
that  these  spots  do  not  appear  to  revolve  so 
fast  as  the  sun.  This,  however,  I  am  prepared 
to  explain  upon  the  theory  that  this  might  be 
the  result  of  delays  in  the  returns.  However, 
I  am  free  to  confess  that  speculative  science 
is  filled  with  the  intangible. 

The  sun  revolves  upon  his  or  her  axletree, 
as  the  case  may  bfe,  dnce  in  25  to  28  of  our  days, 

246 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

SO  that  a  man  living  there  would  have  almost 
two  years  to  pay  a  30-day  note.  We  should 
so  live  that  when  we  come  to  die  we  may  go 
at  once  to  the  sun. 

Regarding  the  sun's  temperature,  Sir  John 
Herschel  says  that  it  is  sufficient  to  melt  a 
shell  of  ice  covering  its  entire  surface  to  a 
depth  of  40  feet.  T  do  not  know  whether  he 
made  this  experiment  personally  or  hired  a 
man  to  do  it  for  him. 

The  sun  is  like  the  star  spangled  banner — 
as  it  is  ''still  there."  You  get  up  to-morrow 
morning  just  before  sunrise  and  look  away 
toward  the  east,  and  keep  on  looking  in  that 
direction,  and  at  last  you  will  see  a  fine  sight, 
if  what  I  have  been  told  is  true.  If  the  sun- 
rise is  as  grand  as  the  sunset,  it  indeed  must 
be  one  of  nature's  most  sublime  phenomena. 

The  sun  is  the  great  source  of  light  and  heat 
for  our  earth.  If  the  sun  were  to  go  some- 
where for  a  few  weeks  for  relaxation  and  rest, 
it  would  be  a  cold  day  for  us.  The  moon,  too, 
would  be  useless,  for  she  is  largely  dependent 
on  the  sun.  Animal  life  would  soon  cease  and 
real  estate  would  become  depressed  in  price. 
We  owe  very  much  of  our  enjoyment  to  the 
sun,  and  .not  many  y^ars  ago  there  were  a 

H7 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

large  number  of  people  who  worshiped  the  sun. 
When  a  man  showed  signs  of  emotional  in- 
sanity, they  took  him  up  on  the  observatory 
of  the  temple  and  sacrificed  him  to  the  sun. 
They  were  a  very  prosperous  and  happy  peo- 
ple. If  the  conqueror  had  not  come  among 
them  with  civilization  and  guns  and  grand 
juries  they  would  have  been  very  happy,  in- 
deed. 

The  Stars. 

There  is  much  in  the  great  field  of  astronomy 
that  is  discouraging  to  the  savant  who  hasn't 
the  time  nor  the  means  to  rummage  around 
through  the  heavens.  At  times  I  am  almost 
hopeless,  and  feel  like  saying  to  the  great 
yearnful,  hungry  world:  "Grope  on  forever. 
Do  not  ask  me  for  another  scientific  fact.  Find 
it  out  yourself.  Hunt  up  your  own  new-laid 
planets,  and  let  me  have  a  rest.  Never  ask  me 
again  to  sit  up  all  night  and  take  care  of  a 
new-born  world,  while  you  lie  in  bed  and  reck 
not." 

I  get  no  salary  for  examining  the  trackless 
void  night  after  night  when  I  ought  to  be  in 
bed.  I  sacrifice  my  health  in  order  that  the 
public  may  know  at  once  of  the  presence  of 

24$ 


BTEL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

a  red-hot  comet,  fresh  from  the  factory.    And 
yet,  what  thanks  do  I  get? 

Is  it  surprising  that  every  little  while  I  con- 
template withdrawing  from  scientific  research, 
to  go  and  skin  an  eight-mule  team  down 
through  the  dim  vista  of  relentless  years? 

Then,  again,  you  take  a  certain  style  of  star, 
which  you  learn  from  Professor  Simon  New- 
comb  is  such  a  distance  that  it  takes  50,000 
years  for  its  light  to  reach  Boston.  Now,  we 
will  suppose  that  after  looking  over  the  large 
stock  of  new  and  second-hand  stars,  and  after 
examining  the  spring  catalogue  and  price  list, 
I  decide  that  one  of  the  smaller  size  will  do 
me,  and  I  buy  it.  How  do  I  know  that  it  was 
there  when  I  bought  it?  Its  cold  and  silent 
rays  may  have  ceased  49,000  years  before  I 
was  born  and  the  intelligence  be  still  on  the 
way.  There  is  too  much  margin  between  sale 
and  delivery.  Every  now  and  then  another 
astronomer  comes  to  me  and  says:  'Trofessor, 
I  have  discovered  another  new  star  and  in- 
tend to  file  it.  Found  it  last  night  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  south  of  the  zenith,  running 
loose.  Haven't  heard  of  anybody  who  has 
lost  a  star  of  the  fifteenth  magnitude,  about 
thirteen  hands  high,  with  light  mane  and  tail, 

249 


A  Nightly  Vigil. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

have  you?"  Now,  how  do  I  know  that  he  has 
discovered  a  brand  new  star?  How  can  I  dis- 
cover whether  he  is  or  is  not  playing  and  old, 
threadbare  star  on  me  for  a  new  one? 

We  are  told  that  there  has  been  no  per- 
ceptible growth  or  decay  in  the  star  business 
since  man  began  to  roam  around  through 
space,  in  his  mind,  and  make  figures  on  the 
barn  door  with  red  chalk  showing  the  celestial 
time  table. 

No  serious  accidents  have  occurred  in  the 
starry  heavens  since  I  began  to  observe  and 
study  their  habits.  Not  a  star  has  waxed, 
not  a  star  has  waned  to  my  knowledge.  Not 
a  planet  has  season-cracked  or  shown  any  of 
the  injurious  effects  of  our  rigorous  climate. 
Not  a  star  has  ripened  prematurely  or  fallen 
off  the  trees.  The  varnish  on  the  very  oldest 
stars  I  find  on  close  and  critical  examination 
to  be  in  splendid  condition.  They  will  all  no 
doubt  wear  as  long  as  we  need  them,  and  wink 
on  long  after  we  have  ceased  to  wink  back. 

In  1866  there  appeared  suddenly  in  the 
northern  crown  a  star  of  about  the  third  mag- 
nitude and  worth  at  least  $250.  It  was  gen- 
erally conceded  by  astronomers  that  this  was 
a  brand  new  star  that  had  never  been  used, 

251 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

but  upon  consulting  Argelander's  star  cata- 
logue and  price  list  it  was  found  that  this  was 
not  a  new  star  at  all,  but  an  old,  faded  star  of 
the  ninth  magnitude,  with  the  front  breadths 
turned  wrong  side  out  and  trimmed  with 
moonlight  along  the  seams.  After  a  few  days 
of  phenomenal  brightness,  it  gently  ceased  to 
draw  a  salary  as  a  star  of  the  third  magni- 
tude, and  walked  home  with  an  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin  company. 

It  is  such  things  as  this  that  make  the  life 
of  the  astronomer  one  of  constant  and  dis- 
couraging toil.  I  have  long  contemplated,  as 
I  say,  the  advisability  of  retiring  from  this 
field  of  science  and  allowing  others  to  light 
the  northern  lights,  skim  chores.  I  would  do 
it  myself  cheerfully  if  my  health  would  per- 
mit, but  for  years  I  have  realized,  and  so  has 
my  wife,  that  my  duties  as  an  astronomer 
kept  me  up  too  much  at  night,  and  my  wife 
is  certainly  right  about  it  when  she  says  if  I 
insist  on  scanning  the  heavens  night  after 
night,  coming  home  late  with  the  cork  out  of 
my  telescope  and  my  eyes  red,  and  swollen 
with  these  exhausting  night  vigils,  I  will  be 
cut  down  in  my  prime.  So  I  am  liable  to 
abandon  the  great  labor  to  which  I  had  in- 

252 


BILL  XYE'S  RED  BOOK 

tended  to  devote  my  life,  my  dazzling  genius 
and  my  princely  income.  I  hope  that  other 
savants  will  spare  me  the  pain  of  another  re- 
fusal, for  my  mind  is  fully  made  up  that  un- 
less another  skimmist  is  at  once  secured,  the 
milky  way  will  henceforth  remain  unskum. 


253 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


A  THRILLING  EXPERIENCE. 

I  had  a  very  thrilling  experience  the  other 
evening.  I  had  just  filled  an  engagement  in 
a  strange  city,  and  retired  to  my  cozy  room  at 
the  hotel. 

The  thunders  of  applause  had  died  away, 
and  the  opera  house  had  been  locked  up  to 
await  the  arrival  of  an  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin 
Company.  The  last  loiterer  had  returned  to 
his  home,  and  the  lights  in  the  palace  of  the 
pork  packer  were  extinguished. 

No  sound  was  heard,  save  the  low,  tremu- 
lous swash  of  the  sleet  outside,  or  the  death- 
rattle  in  the  throat  of  the  bath-tub.  Then 
all  was  as  still  as  the  bosom  of  a  fried  chicken 
when  the  spirit  has  departed. 

The  swallow-tail  coat  hung  limp  and  weary 
in  the  wardrobe,  and  the  gross  receipts  of  the 
evening  were  under  my  pillow.  I  needed 
sleep,  for  I  was  worn  out  with  travel  and 
anxiety,  but  the  fear  of  being  robbed  kept  me 
from  repose.  I  know  how  desperate  a  man 
becomes  when  he  yearns  for  another's  gold. 
I  know  how  cupidity  drives  a  wicked  man  to 
angle  his  victim,  that  he  may  win  precarious 

254 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

prosperity,  and  how  he  will  often  take  a  short 
cut  to  wealth  by  means  of  murder,  when,  if 
he  would  enter  politics,  he  might  accomplish 
his  purpose  as  surely  and  much  more  safely. 

Anon,  however,  tired  nature  succumbed.  I 
know  I  had  succumbed,  for  the  bell-boy  after- 
ward testified  that  he  heard  me  do  so. 

The  gentle  warmth  of  the  steam-heated 
room,  and  the  comforting  assurance  of  duty 
well  done  and  the  approval  of  friends,  at  last 
lulled  me  into  a  gentle  repose. 

Anyone  who  might  have  looked  upon  me,  as 
I  lay  there  in  that  innocent  slumber,  with  the 
winsome  mouth  slightly  ajar  and  the  playful 
limbs  cast  wildly  about,  while  a  merry  smile 
now  and  then  flitted  across  the  regular  feat- 
ures, would  have  said  that  no  heart  could  be 
so  hard  as  to  harbor  ill  for  one  so  guileless  and 
so  simple. 

I  do  not  know  what  it  was  that  caused  me 
to  wake.  Some  slight  sound  or  other,  no 
doubt,  broke  my  slumber,  and  I  opened  my 
eyes  wildly.    The  room  was  in  semi-darkness. 

Hark! 

A  slight  movement  in  the  corner,  and  the 
low,  regular  breathing  of  a  human  being!  I 
was  now  wide  awake.     Possibly  I  could  have 

255 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

opened  my  eyes  wider  but  not  without  spilling 
them  out  of  their  sockets. 

Regularly  came  that  soft,  low  breathing. 
Each  time  it  seemed  like  a  sigh  of  relief,  but  it 
did  not  relieve  me.  Evidently  it  was  not  done 
for  that  purpose.  It  sounded  like  a  sigh  of 
blessed  relief,  such  as  a  woman  might  heave 
after  she  has  returned  from  church  and  trans- 
ferred herself  from  the  embrace  of  her  new 
Russia  iron,  black  silk  dress  into  a  friendly 
wrapper. 

Regularly,  like  the  rise  and  fall  of  a  wave  on 
the  summer  sea,  it  rose  and  fell,  while  my  pale 
lambrequin  of  hair  rose  and  fell  fitfully  with  it. 

I  know  that  people  who  read  this  will  laugh 
at  it,  but  there  was  nothing  to  laugh  at.  At 
first  I  feared  that  the  sigh  might  be  that  of  a 
woman  who  had  entered  the  room  through  a 
transom  in  order  to  see  me,  as  I  lay  wrapt  in 
slumber,  and  then  carry  the  picture  away  to 
gladden  her  whole  life. 

But  no.  That  w^as  hardly  possible.  It  was 
cupidity  that  had  driven  some  cruel  villain  to 
enter  my  apartments  and  to  crouch  in  the 
gloom  till  the  proper  moment  should  come  in 
which  to  spring  upon  me,  throttle  me,  crowd 
a  hotel  pillow  into   each  lung,  and,  while  I 

256 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

did  the  Desdemona  act,  rob  me  of  my  hard- 
earned  wealth. 

Regularly  still  rose  the  soft  breathing,  as 
though  the  robber  might  be  trying  to  suppress 
it.  I  reached  gently  under  the  pillow,  and  se- 
curing the  money  I  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  my 
robe  de  nuit.  Then,  with  great  care,  I  pulled 
out  a  copy  of  Smith  &  Wesson's  great  work 
on  "How  to  Ventilate  the  Human  Form."  I 
said  to  myself  that  I  would  sell  my  life  as  dear- 
ly as  possible,  so  that  whoever  bought  it  would 
always  regret  the  trade. 

Then  I  opened  the  volume  at  the  first  chap- 
ter and  addressed  a  thirty-eight  calibre  remark 
in  the  direction  of  the  breath  in  the  corner. 

When  the  echoes  had  died  away  a  sigh  of 
relief  welled  up  from  the  dark  corner.  Also 
another  sigh  of  relief  later  on. 

I  then  decided  to  light  the  gas  and  fight  it 
out.  You  have  no  doubt  seen  a  man  scratch 
a  match  on  the  leg  of  his  pantaloons.  Perhaps 
you  have  also  seen  an  absent-minded  man  un- 
dertake to  do  so,  forgetting  that  his  pantaloons 
were  hanging  on  a  chair  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room. 

However,  I  lit  the  gas  with  my  left  hand 
and  kept  my  revolver  pointed  toward  the  dark 

:    -57 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

corner  where  the  breath  was  still  rising  and 
falling. 

People  who  had  heard  my  lecture  came  rush- 
ing in,  hoping  to  find  that  I  had  suicided,  but 
they  found  that,  instead  of  humoring  the  pub- 
lic in  that  way,  I  had  shot  the  valve  off  the 
steam  radiator. 

It  is  humiliating  to  write  the  foregoing  my- 
self, but  I  would  rather  do  so  than  have  the 
affair  garbled  by  careless  hands. 


258 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


CATCHING  A  BUFFALO. 

A  pleasing-  anecdote  is  being  told  through 
the  press  columns  recently,  of  an  encounter  on 
the  South  Platte,  which  occurred  some  years 
asTO  between  a  Texan  and  a  buffalo.  The  re- 
cital  sets  forth  the  fact  that  the  Texans  went 
out  to  hunt  buffalo,  hoping  to  get  enough  for  a 
mess  during  the  day.  Toward  evening  they 
saw  two  gentlemen  buffalo  on  a  neighboring 
hill  near  the  Platte,  and  at  once  pursued  their 
game,  each  selecting  an  animal.  They  sep- 
arated at  once.  Jack  going  one  way  galloping- 
after  his  beast,  while  Sam  went  in  the  other 
direction.  Jack  soon  got  a  shot  at  his  game, 
but  the  bullet  only  tore  a  large  hole  in  the 
fleshy  shoulder  of  the  bull  and  buried  itself  in 
the  neck,  maddening  the  animal  to  such  a  de- 
gree that  he  turned  at  once  and  charged  upon 
horse  and  rider. 

The  astonished  horse,  with  the  wonderful 
courage;  sagacity  and  sang  froid  peculiar  to 
the  broncho,  whirled  around  two  consecutive 
times,  tangled  his  feet  in  the  tall  grass  and 
fell,  throwing  his  rider  about  fifty  feet.  He 
then  rose  and  walked  away  to  a  quiet  place, 

259 


BILL  NYES  RED  BOOK 

where  he  could  considtr  the  matter  and  give 
the  buffalo  an  opportunity  to  recover. 

The  infuriated  bull  then  gave  chase  to  Jack, 
w^ho  kept  out  of  the  way  for  a  few  yards  only, 
when,  getting  his  legs  entangled  in  the  grass, 
he  fell  so  suddenly  that  his  pursuer  dashed 
over  him  without  doing  him  any  bodily  injury. 
However,  as  the  animal  went  over  his  prostrate 
form.  Jack  felt  the  buffalo's  tail  brush  across 
his  face,  and,  rising  suddenly,  he  caught  it  with 
a  terrific  grip  and  hung  to  it,  thus  keeping  out 
of  the  reach  of  his  enemy's  horns,  till  his 
strength  was  just  giving  out,  when  Sam  hove 
in  sight  and  put  a  large  bullet  through  the 
bull's  heart. 

This  tale  is  told,  apparently,  by  an  old  plains- 
man and  scout,  who  reels  it  off  as  though  he 
might  be  telling  his  own  experience. 

Now,  I  do  not  wish  to  seem  captious  and 
always  sticking  my  nose  into  what  is  none  of 
my  business,  but  as  a  logical  and  zoological 
fact,  I  desire,  in  my  cursory  way,  to  coolly  take 
up  the  subject  of  the  buffalo  tail.  Those  who 
have  been  in  the  habit  of  killing  buffaloes,  in- 
stead of  running  an  account  at  the  butcher 
shop,  will  remember  that  this  noble  animal  has 
a  genuine  camel's  hair  tail  about  eight  inches 

260 


An  Unequal  Match. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

long,  with  a  chenille  tassel  at  the  end,  which 
he  throws  up  into  the  rarefied  atmosphere  of 
the  far  west,  whenever  he  is  surprised  or  agi- 
tated. 

In  passing  over  a  prostrate  man,  therefore, 
I  apprehend  that  in  order  to  brush  his  face 
with  the  average  buffalo  tail,  it  would  be  nec- 
essary for  him  to  sit  down  on  the  bosom  of 
the  prostrate  scout  and  fan  his  features  with 
the  miniature  caudal  Ibud. 

The  bufifalo  does  not  gallop  an  hundred  miles 
a  day,  dragging  his  tail  across  the  bunch  grass 
and  alkali  of  the  boundless  plains. 

He  snorts  a  little,  turns  his  bloodshot  eyes 
toward  the  enemy  a  moment  and  then,  throw- 
ing his  cunning  little  taillet  over  the  dash- 
boardlet,  he  wings  away  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion. 

The  man  who  could  lie  on  his  back  and  grab 
that  vision  by  the  tail  would  have  to  be  moder- 
ately active.  If  he  succeeded,  however,  it 
would  be  a  question  of  the  sixteenth  part  of 
a  second  only,  whether  he  had  his  arms  jerked 
out  by  the  roots  and  scattered  through  space 
or  whether  he  had  strength  of  will  sufficient 
to  yank  out  the  withered  little  frizz  and  hold 
the  quivering  ornament   in   his  hands.     Few 

262 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

people  have  the  moral  courage  to  follow  a 
buflfalo  around  over  half  a  day  holding  on  by 
the  tail.  It  is  said  that  a  Sioux  brave  once 
tried  it,  and  they  say  his  tracks  were  thirteen 
miles  apart.  After  merrily  sauntering  around 
with  the  buffalo  one  hour,  during  which  time 
he  crossed  the  territories  of  Wyoming  and 
Dakota  twice  and  surrounded  the  regular  army 
three  times,  he  became  discouraged  and  died 
from  the  injuries  he  had  received.  Perhaps, 
however,  it  may  have  been  fatigue. 

It  might  be  possible  for  a  man  to  catch  hold 
of  the  meager  tail  of  a  meteor  and  let  it  snatch 
him  through  the  coming  years. 

It  might  be,  that  a  man  with  a  strong  con- 
stitution could  catch  a  cyclone  and  ride  it  bare- 
back across  the  LTnited  States  and  then  have 
a  fresh  one  ready  to  ride  back  again,  but  to 
catch  a  buffalo  bull  in  the  full  flush  of  man- 
hood, as  it  were,  and  retain  his  tail  while  he 
crossed  three  reservations  and  two  mountain 
ranges,  requires  great  tenacity  of  purpose  and 
unusual  mental  equipoise. 

Remember,  I  do  not  regard  the  story  I  refer 
to  as  false,  at  least  I  do  not  wish  to  be  so  un- 
derstood. I  simply  say  that  it  recounts  an  in- 
cident that  is  rather  out  of  the  ordinary.     Let 

263 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  gentle  reader  lie  down  and  have  a  Jack- 
rabbit  driven  across  his  face,  for  instance.  The 
J.  Rabbit  is  as  likely  to  brush  your  face  with 
his  brief  and  erect  tail  as  the  buffalo  would  be. 
Then  carefully  note  how  rapidly  and  promptly 
instantaneous  you  must  be.  Then  closely  at- 
tend to  the  manner  in  which  you  abruptly  and 
almost  simultaneously,  have  not  retained  the 
tail  in  your  memory. 

A  few  people  may  have  successfully  seized 
the  grieved  and  startled  buffalo  by  the  tail,  but 
they  are  not  here  to  testify  to  the  circum- 
stances. They  are  dead,  abnormally  and  ex- 
tremelv  dead. 


264 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


JOHN  ADAMS. 

After  viewing  the  birthplace  of  the  Adamses 
out  at  Quincy  I  felt  more  reconciled  to  my  own 
birthplace.  Comparing  the  house  in  which  I 
was  born  with  those  in  which  other  eminent 
philanthropists  and  high-priced  statesmen 
originated,  I  find  that  I  have  no  reason  to  com- 
plain. Neither  of  the  Adamses  were  born  in  a 
larger  house  than  I  was,  and  for  general  tone 
and  eclat  of  front  yard  and  cook-room  on  be- 
hind, I  am  led  to  believe  that  I  have  the  ad- 
vantage. 

John  Adams  was  born  before  John  Quincy 
Adams.  A  popular  idea  seems  to  prevail  in 
some  sections  of  the  Union  that  inasmuch  as 
John  Q.  was  bald  headed,  he  was  the  elder  of 
the  two;  but  I  inquired  about  that  while  on  the 
ground  where  they  were  both  born,  and  ascer- 
tained from  people  who  were  familiar  with  the 
circumstances,  that  John  was  born  first. 

John  Adams  was  the  second  president  of  the 
United  States.  He  was  a  lawyer  by  profes- 
sion, but  his  attention  was  called  to  politics 
by  the  passage  of  the  stamp  act  in  1765.  He 
was   one   of   the   delegates   who   represented 

265 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Massachusetts  in  the  first  Continental  Con- 
gress, and  about  that  time  he  wrote  a  letter 
in  which  he  said:  "The  die  is  now  cast;  I  have 
passed  the  rubicon.  Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die, 
survive  or  perish  with  my  country  is  my  un- 
alterable determination."  Some  have  expressed 
the  opinion  that  "the  rubicon"  alluded  to  by 
Mr.  Adams  in  this  letter  was  a  law  which  he 
had  succeeded  in  getting  passed;  but  this  is 
not  true.  The  idea  of  passing  the  rubicon  first 
originated  with  Julius  Caesar,  a  foreigner  of 
some  note  who  flourished  a  good  deal  B.  C. 

In  June,  1776,  Mr.  Adams  seconded  a  reso- 
lution, moved  by  Richard  Henry  Lee,  that  the 
United  States  "are,  and  of  right  ought  to 
be,  free  and  independent."  Whenever  Mr. 
Adams  could  get  a  chance  to  whoop  for  liberty 
now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable,  he  in- 
variably did  so. 

In  1796,  Mr.  Adams  ran  for  president.  In 
the  convention  it  was  nip  and  tuck  between 
Thomas  Jefiferson  and  himself,  but  Jefferson 
was  understood  to  be  a  Universalist,  or  an 
Universalist,  whichever  would  look  the  best  in 
print,  and  so  he  only  got  68  votes  out  of  a  pos- 
sible 139.     In  1800,  however,  Jefferson  turned 

266 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  tables  on  him,  and  Mr.  Adams  only  re- 
ceived 65  to  Jefferson's  y}^  votes. 

Mr.  Adams  made  a  good  president  and 
earned  his  salary,  though  it  wasn't  so  much  of 
a  job  as  it  is  now.  When  there  was  no  Indian 
war  in  those  days  the  president  could  put  on 
an  old  blue  flannel  shirt  and  such  other  clothes 


Presidential  Simplicity. 


as  he  might  feel  disposed  to  adopt,  and  fish  for 
bull-heads  in  the  Potomac  till  his  nose  peeled 
in  the  full  glare  of  the  fervid  sun. 

Now  it  is  far  different.  By  the  time  we  get 
through  with  a  president  nowadays  he  isn't 
good  for  much.  Mr.  Hayes  stood  the  fatigue 
of  being  president  better,  perhaps,  than  any 

267 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

other  man  since  the  republic  became  so  large 
a  machine.  Mr.  Hayes  went  home  to  Fremont 
with  his  mind  just  as  fresh  and  his  brain  as 
cool  as  when  he  pulled  up  his  coat  tails  to  sit 
down  in  the  presidential  chair.  The  reason 
why  Mr.  Hayes  saved  his  mind,  his  brain  and 
his  salary,  was  plain  enough  when  we  stop  to 
consider  that  he  did  not  use  them  much  dur- 
ing his  administration. 

John  Quincy  Adams  was  the  sixth  presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  and  the  eldest  son  of 
John  Adams.  He  was  one  of  the  most  elo- 
quent of  orators,  and  shines  in  history  as  one 
of  the  most  polished  of  our  eminent  and  bald- 
headed  Americans.  When  he  began  to  speak, 
his  round,  smooth  head,  to  look  down  upon  it 
from  the  gallery,  resembled  a  nice  new  billiard 
ball,  but  as  he  warmed  up  and  became  more 
thoroughly  stirred,  his  intellectual  dome 
changed  to  a  delicate  pink.  Then,  when  he 
rose  to  the  full  height  of  his  eloquent  flight, 
and  prepared  to  swoop  down  upon  his  adver- 
saries and  carry  them  into  camp,  it  is  said  that 
his  smooth  intellectual  rink  was  as  red  as  the 
flush  of  rosy  dawn  on  the  5th  day  of  July. 

He  was  educated  both  at  home  and  abroad. 
That  is  the  reason  he  was  so  polished.     After 

268 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

he  got  so  that  he  could  readily  spell  and  pro- 
nounce the  most  difficult  words  to  be  found  in 
the  large  stores  of  Boston,  he  was  sent  to  Eu- 
rope, where  he  acquired  several  foreign 
tongues,  and  got  so  that  he  could  converse 
with  the  people  of  Europe  very  fluently,  if  they 
were  familiar  with  English  as  she  is  spoke. 

John  Quincy  Adams  was  chosen  president 
by  the  House  of  Representatives,  there  being 
no  choice  in  the  electoral  contest,  Adams  re- 
ceiving 84  votes,  Andrew  Jackson  99,  William 
H.  Crawford  41,  and  Henry  Clay  };j.  Clay 
stood  in  with  Mr.  Adams  in  the  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives deal,  it  was  said,  and  was  appoint- 
ed secretary  of  state  under  Mr.  Adams  as  a 
result.  This  may  not  be  true,  but  a  party  told 
me  about  it  who  got  it  straight  from  Wash- 
ington, and  he  also  told  me  in  confidence  that 
he  made  it  a  rule  never  to  prevaricate. 

Mr.  Adams  was  opposed  to  American  slav- 
ery, and  on  several  occasions  in  Congress  al- 
luded to  his  convictions. 

He  was  in  Congress  seventeen  years,  and 
during  that  time  he  was  frequently  on  his  feet 
attending  to  little  matters  in  which  he  felt 
an  interest,  and  when  he  began  to  make  allu- 
sions, and  blush  all  over  the  top  of  his  head, 

269 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

and  kick  the  desk,  and  throw  ink-bottles  at  the 
presiding  officer,  they  say  that  John  Q.  made 
them  pay  attention.  Seward  says,  "with  un- 
wavering firmness,  against  a  bitter  and  un- 
scrupulous opposition,  exasperated  to  the 
highest  pitch  by  his  pertinacity — amidst  a  per- 
fect tempest  of  vituperation  and  abuse — he 
persevered  in  presenting  his  anti-slavery  peti- 
tions, one  by  one,  to  the  amount  sometimes  of 
200  in  one  day."  As  one  of  his  eminent  biog- 
raphers has  truly  said :  "John  Quincy  Adams 
was  indeed  no  slouch." 


270 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  WAIL  OF  A  WIFE. 

"Ethel"  has  written  a  letter  to  me  and  asked 
for  a  printed  reply.  Leaving  off  the  opening 
sentences,  which  I  would  not  care  to  have  fall 
into  the  hands  of  my  wife,  her  note  is  about  as 
follows: 

" Vt,  Feb.  28,  1885. 

"My  Dear  Sir:  ********* 
*  *  *  *  *  [Tender  part  of  letter  omitted 
for  obvious  reasons.]  Would  it  be  asking  too 
much  for  me  to  request  a  brief  reply  to  one  or 
two  questions  which  many  other  married 
women  as  well  as  myself  would  like  to  have 
answered? 

I  have  been  married  now  for  five  years.  To- 
day is  the  anniversary  of  my  marriage.  When 
T  was  single  1  was  a  teacher  and  supported  my- 
self in  comfort.  I  had  more  pocket-money 
and  dressed  fully  as  well  if  not  better  than  I 
do  now.  Why  should  girls  who  are  abun- 
dantly able  to  earn  their  own  livelihood 
struggle  to  become  the  slave  of  a  husband  and 
children,  and  tie  themselves  to  a  man  when 
they  might  be  free  and  happy? 
•  I  think  too  much  is  said  by  the  men  in  a 

271 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

light  and  flippant  manner  about  the  anxiety 
of  young  ladies  to  secure  a  home  and  a  hus- 
band, and  still  they  do  deserve  a  part  of  it,  as 
I  feel  that  I  do  now  for  assuming  a  great  bur- 
den when  I  was  comparatively  independent 
and  comfortable. 

Now,  will  you  suggest  any  advice  that  you 
think  would  benefit  the  yet  unmarried  and  self- 
supporting  girls  who  are  liable  to  make  the 
same  mistake  that  I  did,  and  thus  warn  them 
in  a  manner  that  would  be  so  much  more  uni- 
versal in  its  range,  and  reach  so  many  more 
people  than  I  could  if  I  should  raise  my  voice? 
Do  this  and  you  will  be  gratefully  remem- 
bered by  Ethel." 

It  would  indeed  be  a  tough,  tough  man  who 
could  ignore  thy  gentle  plea,  Ethel;  tougher 
far  than  the  pale,  intellectual  hired  man  who 
now  addresses  you  in  this  private  and  under- 
handed manner,  unknown  to  your  husband. 
Please  destroy  this  letter,  Ethel,  as  soon  as 
you  see  it  in  print,  so  that  it  will  not  fall  into 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Ethel,  for  if  it  should,  I  am 
gone.  If  your  husband  were  to  run  across  this 
letter  in  the  public  press  I  could  never  look 
him  in  the  eye  again. 

You  say  that  you  had  more  pocket-money 

2/2 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

before  you  were  married  than  you  have  since, 
Ethel,  and  you  regret  your  rash  step.  I  am 
sorry  to  hear  it.  You  also  say  that  you  wore 
better  clothes  when  you  were  single  than  you 
do  now.  You  are  also  pained  over  that.  It 
seems  that  marriage  with  you  has  not  paid  any 
cash  dividends.  So  that  if  you  married  Mr. 
Ethel  as  a  financial  venture,  it  was  a  mistake. 
You  do  not  state  how  it  has  affected  your  hus- 
band. Perhaps  he  had  more  pocket-money  and 
better  clothes  before  he  married  than  he  has 
since.  Sometimes  two  people  do  well  in  busi- 
ness by  themselves,  but  when  they  go  into 
partnership  they  bust  higher  than  a  kite,  if  you 
will  allow  me  the  free,  English  translation  of 
a  Roman  expression  which  you  might  not  fully 
understand  if  I  should  give  it  to  you  in  the 
original  Roman. 

Lots  of  self-supporting  young  ladies  have 
married  and  had  to  go  very  light  on  pin-money 
after  that,  and  still  they  did  not  squeal,  as  you, 
dear  Ethel.  They  did  not  marry  for  revenue 
only.  They  married  for  protection.  (This  is 
a  little  political  bon  mot  which  I  thought  of 
myself.  Some  of  my  best  jokes  this  spring  are 
jokes  that  T  thought  of  myself.) 

No,  Ethel,  if  you  married  expecting  to  be  a 

273 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

dormant  partner  during  the  day  and  then  to 
go  through  Mr.  Ethel's  pantaloons  pocket  at 
night  and  declare  a  dividend,  of  course  life  is 
full  of  bitter,  bitter  regret  and  disappointment. 


For  Revenue  Only. 

Perhaps  it  is  also  for  Mr.  Ethel.  Anyhow,  I 
can't  help  feeling  a  pang  of  sympathy  for  him. 
You  do  not  say  that  he  is  unkind  or  that  he  so 
far  forgets  himself  as  to  wake  you  up  in  the 
morning  with  a  harsh  tone  of  voice  and  a  year- 
ling club.    You  do  not  say  that  he  asks  you  f  r 

274 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

pocket-money,  or,  if  so,  whether  you  give  it 
to  him  or  not. 

Of  course  I  want  to  do  what  is  right  in  the 
solemn  warning  business,  so  I  will  give  notice 
to  all  simple  young  women  who  are  now  self- 
supporting  and  happy,  that  there  is  no  statute 
requiring  them  to  assume  the  burdens  of  wife- 
hood and  motherhood  unless  they  prefer  to  do 
so.  If  they  now  have  abundance  of  pin-money 
and  new  clothes,  they  may  remain  single  if 
they  wish  without  violating  the  laws  of  the 
land.  This  rule  is  also  good  when  applied  to 
young  and  self-supporting  young  men  who 
wear  good  clothes  and  have  funds  in  their 
pockets.  No  young  man  who  is  free,  happy 
and  independent,  need  invest  his  money  in  a 
family  or  carry  a  colicky  child  twenty-seven 
miles  and  two  laps  in  one  night  unless  he  pre- 
fers it.  But  those  who  go  into  it  with  the  right 
spirit,  Ethel,  do  not  regret  it. 

I  would  just  as  soon  tell  you,  Ethel,  if  you 
will  promise  that  it  shall  go  no  farther,  that 
T  do  not  wear  as  good  clothes  as  I  did  before 
I  was  married.  I  don't  have  to.  My  good 
clothes  have  accomplished  what  I  got  them 
for.  I  played  them  for  all  they  were  worth, 
and  since  I  got  married  the  idea  of  wearing 

275 


BILL  XYE'S  RED  BOOK 

clothes  as  a  vocation  has  not  occurred  to  me. 

Please  give  my  kind  regards  to  ^Ir.  Ethel, 

and  tell  him  that  although  I  do  not  know  him 

personally,  I  cannot  help  feeling  sorry  for  him. 


276 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BCX)K 


BUNKER  HILL. 

Last  week  for  the  first  time  I  visited  the 
granite  obelisk  known  all  over  the  civilized 
world  as  Bunker  Hill  monument.  Sixty  years 
ago,  if  my  memory  ser^'es  me  correctly,  Gen- 
eral La  Fayette,  since  deceased,  laid  the  cor- 
ner-stone, and  Daniel  Webster  made  a  few  des- 
ultory remarks  which  I  cannot  now  recall. 
Eighteen  years  later  it  was  formally  dedicated, 
and  Daniel  spoke  a  good  piece,  composed  most- 
ly of  things  that  he  had  thought  up  himself. 
There  has  never  been  a  feature  of  the  early 
history  and  unceasing  struggle  for  American 
freedom  which  has  so  roused  my  admiration 
as  this  custom,  quite  prevalent  among  con- 
gressmen in  those  days,  of  wTiting  their  own 
speeches. 

Many  of  Webster's  most  powerful  speeches 
were  wTitten  by  himself  or  at  his  suggestion. 
He  was  a  plain,  unassuming  man,  and  did  not 
feel  above  writing  his  speeches.  I  have  al- 
ways had  the  greatest  respect  and  admiration 
for  Mr.  Webster  as  a  citizen,  as  a  scholar  and 
as  an  extemporaneous  speaker,  and  Ijad  he  not 
allowed  his  portrait  to  appear  last  year  in  th6 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Century,  wearing  an  air  of  intense  gloom  and 
a  plug  hat  entirely  out  of  style,  my  respect  and 
admiration  would  have  continued  indefinite- 

ly- 

Bunker  Hill  monument  is  a  great  success 
as  a  monument,  and  the  view  from  its  sum- 
mit is  said  to  be  well  worth  the  price  of  ad- 
mission. I  did  not  ascend  the  obelisk,  be- 
cause the  inner  staircase  was  closed  to  visitors 
on  the  day  of  my  visit  and  the  lightning  rod 
on  the  outside  looked  to  me  as  though  it  had 
been  recently  oiled. 

On  the  following  day,  however,  I  engaged 
a  man  to  ascend  the  monument  and  tell  me  his 
sensations.  He  assured  me  that  they  were 
first-rate.  At  the  feet  of  the  spectator  Boston 
and  its  environments  are  spread  out  in  the  glad 
sunshine.  Every  day  Boston  spreads  out  her 
environments  just  that  way. 

Bunker  Hill  monument  is  221  feet  in  height, 
and  has  been  entirely  paid  for.  The  spectator 
may  look  at  the  monument  with  perfect  im- 
punity, without  being  solicited  to  buy  some  of 
its  mortgage  bonds.  This  adds  much  to  the 
genuine  thrill  of  pleasure  while  gazing  at  it. 

There  is  a  Bunker  Hill  in  Macoupin  County, 
Illinois,  also  in  Ingham  County,  Michigan,  and 

278 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

in  Russell  County,  Kansas,  but  General  War- 
ren was  not  killed  at  either  of  these  points. 

One  hundred  and  ten  years  ago,  on  the  17th 
day  of  the  present  month,  one  of  America's 
most  noted  battles  with  the  British  was  fought 
near  where  Bunker  Hill  monument  now 
stands.  In  that  battle  the  British  lost  1,050 
in  killed  and  wounded,  while  the  American 
loss  numbered  but  450.  While  the  people  of 
this  country  are  showing  such  an  interest  in 
our  war  history,  I  am  surprised  that  some- 
thing has  not  been  said  about  Bunker  Hill. 
The  Federal  forces  from  Roxbury  to  Cam- 
bridge were  under  command  of  General  Arte- 
mus  Ward,  the  great  American  humorist. 
When  the  American  humorist  really  puts  on 
his  war  paint  and  sounds  the  tocsin,  he  can 
organize  a  great  deal  of  mourning. 

General  Ward  was  assisted  by  Putnam, 
Starke,  Prescott,  Gridley  and  Pomeroy.  Col- 
onel William  Prescott  was  sent  over  from 
Cambridge  to  Charlestown  for  the  purpose  of 
fortifying  Bunker  Hill.  At  a  council  of  war 
it  was  decided  to  fortify  Breeds  Hill,  not  so 
high  but  nearer  to  Boston  than  Bunker  Hill. 
So  a  redoubt  was  throvy-n  up  during  the  night 

279 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

on    the    ground    where    the    monument    now 
stands. 

The  British  landed  a  large  force  under  Gen- 
erals Howe  and  Pigot,  and  at  2  p.  m.  the  Amer- 
icans were  reinforced  by  Generals  Warren 
and  Pomeroy.  General  Warren  was  of  a  lit- 
erary turn  of  mind  and  during  the  battle  took 
his  hat  off  and  recited  a  little  poem  beginning: 

"Stand,  the  ground's  your  own,  my  braves! 
Will  ye  give  it  up  to  slaves?" 

A  man  who  could  deliver  an  impromptu  and 
extemporaneous  address  like  that  in  public, 
and  while  there  was  such  a  bitter  feeling  of 
hostility  on  the  part  of  the  audience,  must  have 
been  a  good  scholar.  In  our  great  fratricidal 
strife  twenty  years  ago,  the  inferiority  of  our 
generals  in  this  respect  was  painfully  notice- 
able. We  did  not  have  a  commander  who 
could  address  his  troops  in  rhyme  to  save  his 
neck.  Several  of  th6m  were  pretty  good  in 
blank  verse,  but  it  was  so  blank  that  it  was 
not  just  the  thing  to  fork  over  to  posterity  and 
speak  in  school  afterward. 

Colonel  Prescdtt's  statue  now  stands  where 
he  is  supposefd  to  have  stood  when  he  told  his 

2S0 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

men  to  reserve  their  fire  till 'they  saw  the 
whites  of  the  enemy's  eyes.  Those  who  have 
examined  the  cast-iron  flint-lock  weapons 
used  in  those  days  will  admit  that  this  order 
was  wise.  Those  guns  were  injurious  to 
health,  of  course,  when  used  to  excess,  but  not 
necessarily  or  immediately  fatal. 

At  the  time  of  the  third  attack  by  the  Brit- 
ish, the  Americans  were  out  of  ammunition, 
but  they  met  the  enemy  with  clubbed  muskets, 
and  it  was  found  that  one  end  of  the  rebel  flint- 
lock was  about  as  fatal  as  the  other,  if  not 
more  so. 

Boston  still  meets  the  invader  with  its  club. 
The  mayor  says  to  the  citizens  of  Boston: 
"Wait  till  you  can  see  the  whites  of  the  visit- 
or's eyes,  and  then  go  for  him  with  your  clubs." 
Then  the  visitor  surrenders. 

I  hope  that  many  years  may  pass  before  it 
will  again  be  necessary  for  us  to  soak  this  fair 
land  in  British  blood.  The  boundaries  of  our 
land  are  now  more  extended,  and  so  it  would 
take  more  blood  to  soak  it. 

Boston  has  just  reason  to  be  proud  of  Bun- 
ker Hill,  and  it  was  certainly  a  great  stroke  of 
enterprise   to   have  the  battle   located   there. 

2S1 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Bunker  Hill  is  dear  to  every  American  heart, 
and  there  are  none  of  us  who  would  not  have 
cheerfully  gone  into  the  battle  then  if  we  had 
known  about  it  in  time. 


^^ 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


A  LUMBER  CAMP. 

I  have  just  returned  from  a  little  impromptu 
farewell  tour  in  the  lumber  camps  toward 
Lake  Superior.  It  was  my  idea  to  wade  around 
in  the  snow  for  a  few  weeks  and  swallow  baked 
beans  and  ozone  on  the  one-half  shell.  The 
affair  was  a  success.  I  put  up  at  Bootjack 
camp  on  the  raging  Willow  River,  where  the 
gay-plumaged  chipmunk  and  the  spruce  gum 
have  their  home. 

Winter  in  the  pine  woods  is  fraught  with 
fun  and  frolic.  It  is  more  fraught  with  fatigue 
than  funds,  however.  This  winter  a  man  in 
the  Michigan  and  Wisconsin  lumber  camps 
could  arise  at  4:30  a.  m.,  eat  a  patent  pail  full 
of  dried  apples  soaked  with  Young  Hyson  and 
sweetened  with  Persian  glucose,  go  out  to  the 
timber  with  a  lantern,  hew  down  the  giants  of 
the  forest,  with  the  snow  up  to  the  pit  of  his 
stomach,  till  the  gray  owl  in  the  gathering 
gloom  whooped  and  hooted  in  derision,  and  all 
for  $12  per  month  and  stewed  prunes. 

I  did  not  try  to  accumulate  wealth  while  I 
was  in  camp.  I  just  allowed  others  to  enter 
Into  the  mad  rush  and  wrench  a  fortune  from 

2S3 


BTLi:  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  hand  of  fate  while  I  studied  human  nature 
and  the  cook.  I  had  a  good  many  pleasant 
days  there,  too.  I  read  such  literary  works 
as  I  could  find  around  the  camp  and  smoked 
the  royal  Havana  smoking  tobacco  of  the  coo- 
kee.  Those  who  have  not  lumbered  much  do 
not  know  much  of  true  joy  and  sylvan  smok- 
ing tobacco. 

They  are  not  using  a  very  good  grade  of  the 
weed  in  the  lumber  regions  this  winter.  When 
I  say  lumber  regions  I  do  not  refer  entirely  to 
the  circumstances  of  a  weak  back.  (Monkey- 
wrench,  oil  can  and  screwdriver  sent  with  this 
joke;  also  rules  for  working  it  in  all  kinds  of 
goods.)  The  tobacco  used  by  the  pine  chop- 
pers of  the  northern  forest  is  called  the  Scan- 
dihoovian.  I  do  not  know  why  they  call  it 
that,  unless  it  is  because  you  can  smoke  it  in 
Wisconsin  and  smell  it  in  Scandihoovia. 

When  night  came  w:  would  gather  around 
the  blazing  fire  and  talk  over  old  times  and 
smoke  this  tobacco.  I  smoked  it  till  last  week 
then  I  bought  a  new  mouth  and  resolved  to 
lead  a  different  life. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  evenings  we  spent 
together  in  that  log  shack  in  the  heart  of  the 
forest.    They  are  graven  on  my  memory  where 

284 


BTLE  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

time's  effacing'  fingers  can  not  monkey  with 
them.  We  would  most  always  converse.  The 
crew  talked  the  Norwegian  language  and  I  am 
using  the  English  language  mostly  this  win- 
ter. So  each  enjoyed  himself  in  his  own  quiet 
way.  This  seemed  to  throw  the  Norwegians 
a  good  deal  together.  It  also  threw  me  a  good 
deal  together.  The  Scandinavians  soon  learn 
our  ways  and  our  language,  but  prior  to  that 
they  are  quite  clannish. 

The  cook,  however,  was  an  Ohio  man.  He 
spoke  the  Sandusky  dialect  with  rich,  nut 
brown  flavor  that  did  me  much  good,  so  that 
after  I  talked  with  the  crew  a  few  hours  in 
English,  and  received  their  harsh,  corduroy 
replies  in  Norske,  I  gladly  fled  to  the  cook 
shanty.  There  I  could  rapidly  change  to  the 
smoothly  flowing'  sentences  peculiar  to  the 
Ohio  tongue,  and  while  I  ate  the  common 
twisted  doughnut  of  commerce,  we  would  talk 
on  and  on  of  the  pleasant  days  we  had  spent 
in  our  native  land.  I  don't  know  how  many 
hours  T  have  thus  spent,  bringing  the  glad  light 
into  the  eye  of  the  cook  as  I  spoke  to  him  of 
Mrs.  Hayes,  an  estimable  lady,  partially  mar- 
ried, and  now  living  at  Fremont,  Ohio. 

I  talked  to  him  of  his  old  home  till  the  tears 
285 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

would  unbidden  start,  as  he  rolled  out  the 
dough  with  a  common  Budweiser  beer  bottle, 
and  poured  the  scalding  into  the  flour  barrel. 
Tears  are  always  unavailing,  but  sometimes  I 
think  they  are  more  so  when  they  are  shed 


into  a  barrel  of  flour.  He  was  an  easy  weeper. 
He  would  shed  tears  on  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion, or  anything  else.  Once  I  told  him  some- 
thing so  touchful  that  his  eyes  were  blinded 
with  tears  for  the  nonce.    Then  I  took  a  pie, 

286 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

and  stole  away  so  that  he  could  be  alone  with 
his  sorrow. 

He  used  to  grind  the  coffee  at  2  a.  m.  The 
coffee  mill  was  nailed  up  against  a  partition 
on  the  opposite  side  from  my  bed.  That  is 
one  reason  I  did  not  stay  any  longer  at  the 
camp.  It  takes  about  an  hour  to  grind  coffee 
enough  for  thirty  men,  and  as  my  ear  was  gen- 
erally against  the  pine  boards  when  the  cook 
began,  it  ruffled  my  slumbers  and  made  me  a 
morose  man. 

We  had  three  men  at  the  camp  who  snored. 
If  they  had  snored  in  my  own  language  I  could 
have  endured  it,  but  it  was  entirely  unintel- 
ligible to  me  as  it  was.  Still,  it  wasn't  bad 
either.  They  snored  on  different  keys,  and 
still  there  was  harmony  in  it — a  kind  of  chime 
of  imported  snore  as  it  were.  I  used  to  lie  and 
listen  to  it  for  hours.  Then  the  cook  would 
begin  his  coffee  mill  overture  and  I  would 
arise. 

When  I  got  home  I  slept  from  Monday 
morning  till  Washington's  Birthday  without 
food  or  water. 


287 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


MY  LECTURE  ABROAD. 

Having  at  last  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of 
Great  Britain,  I  have  decided  to  make  a  pro- 
fessional farewell  tour  of  England  with  my 
new  and  thrilling  lecture,  entitled  "Jerked 
Across  the  Jordan,  or  the  Sudden  and  De- 
served Elevation  of  an  American  Citizen." 

I  have,  therefore,  already  written  some  of 
the  cablegrams  which  will  be  sent  to  the  Asso- 
ciated Press,  in  order  to  open  the  campaign  in 
good  shape  in  America  on  my  return. 

Though  I  have  been  supplicated  for  some 
time  by  the  people  of  England  to  come  over 
there  and  thrill  them  with  my  eloquence,  my 
thriller  has  been  out  of  order  lately,  so  that  I 
did  not  dare  venture  abroad. 

This  lecture  treats  incidentally  of  the  ease 
with  which  an  American  citizen  may  rise  in 
the  Territories,  when  he  has  a  string  tied 
around  his  neck,  with  a  few  personal  friends 
at  the  other  end  of  the  string.  It  also  treats 
of  the  various  styles  of  oratory  peculiar  to 
America,  with  specimens  of  American  oratory 
that  have  been  pressed  and  dried  especially 
for  this  lecture.    It  is  a  good  lecture,  and  the 

288 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

few  straggling  facts  scattered  along  through 
it  don't  interfere  with  the  lecture  itself  in  any 

way. 

I  shall  appear  in  costume  during  the  lecture. 

At  each  lecture  a  different  costume  will  be 
worn,  and  the  costume  worn  at  the  previous 
lecture  will  be  promptly  returned  to  the  owner. 

Persons  attending  the  lecture  need  not  be 
identified. 

Polite  American  dude  ushers  will  go 
through  the  audience  to  keep  the  flies  away 
from  those  who  wish  to  sleep  during  the  lec- 
ture. 

Should  the  lecture  be  encored  at  its  close,  it 
will  be  repeated  only  once.  This  encore  busi- 
ness is  b,eing  overdone  lately,  I  think. 

Following  are  some  of  the  cablegrams  I  have 
already  written.  If  any  one  has  any  sugges- 
tions as  to  change,  or  other  additional  favor- 
able criticisms,  they  will  be  gratefully  re- 
ceived; but  I  wish  to  reserve  the  right,  how- 
ever, to  do  as  I  please  about  using  them: 

London, , .    — Bill  Nye  opened  his 

foreign  lecture  engagement  here  last  evening 
with  a  can-opener.  It  was  found  to  be  in  good 
order.    As  soon  as  the  doors  were  opened  there 

28q 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

was  a  mad  rush  for  seats,  during  which  three 
men  were  fatally  injured.  They  insisted  on 
remaining  through  the  lecture,  however,  and 
adding  to  its  horrors.  Before  8  o'clock  500 
people  had  been  turned  away.  Mr.  Nye  an- 
nounced that  he  would  deliver  a  matinee  this 
afternoon,  but  he  has  been  petitioned  by 
tradesmen  to  refrain  from  doing  so  as  it  will 
paralyze  the  business  interests  of  the  city  to 
such  a  degree  that  they  offer  to  "buy  the 
house,"  and  allow  the  lecturer  to  cancel  his 
engagement. 

London,  ,  .     — The  great  lecturer 

and  contortionist,  Bill  Nye,  last  night  closed 
his  six  weeks'  engagement  here  with  his  fa- 
mous lecture  on  "The  Rise  and  Fall  of  the 
American  Horse  Thief,"  with  a  grand  benefit 
and  ovation.  The  elite  of  London  was  present, 
man}''  of  whom  have  attended  every  evening 
for  six  weeks  to  hear  this  same  lecture.  Those 
who  can  afford  it  will  follow  the  lecturer  back 
to  America,  in  order  to  be  where  they  can  hear 
this  lecture  almost  constantly. 

Mr.  Nye,  at  the  beginning  of  the  season,  of- 
fered a  prize  to  anyone  who  should  neither  be 
absent  nor  tardy  through  the  entire  six  weeks. 

200 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

After  some  hot  discussion  last  evening,  the 
prize  was  awarded  to  the  janitor  of  the  hall. 

[Associated  Press  Cablegram.] 

London, , .    — Bill  Nye  will  sail  for 

America  tomorrow  in  the  steamship  Sene- 
gambia.  On  his  arrival  in  America  he  will  at 
once  pay  off  the  national  debt  and  found  a 
large  asylum  for  American  dudes  whose  moth- 
ers are  too  old  to  take  in  washing  and  support 
their  sons  in  affluence. 


291 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  MINER  AT  HOME. 

Receiving  another  notice  of  assessment  on 
my  stock  in  the  Aladdin  mine  the  other  day, 
reminded  me  that  I  was  still  interested  in  a 
bottomless  hole  that  was  supposed  at  one  time 
to  yield  funds  instead  of  absorbing  them.  The 
Aladdin  claim  was  located  in  the  spring  of  '76 
by  a  syndicate  of  journalists,  none  of  who-m 
had  ever  been  openly  accused  of  wealth.  If 
we  had  been,  we  could  have  proved  an  alibi. 

We  secured  a  gang  of  miners  to  sink  on  the 
discovery,  consisting  of  a  Chinaman  named 
How  Long.  How  Long  spoke  the  Chinese 
language  with  great  fluency.  Being  perfectly 
familiar  with  that  language,  and  a  little  musty 
in  the  trans-Missouri  English,  he  v/ould  con- 
verse with  us  in  his  own  language,  sometimes 
by  the  hour,  courteously  overlooking  the  fact 
that  we  did  not  reply  to  him  in  the  same 
tongue.  He  would  converse  in  this  way  till  he 
ran  down,  generally,  and  then  he  would  re- 
frain for  a  while. 

Finally,  How  Long  signified  that  he  would 
like  to  draw  his  salary.  Of  course  he  was 
ignorant  of  our  ways,  and  as  innocent  of  any 

292 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

knowledge  of  the  intricate  details  peculiar  to 
a  mining  syndicate  as  the  child  unborn.  So  he 
had  gone  to  the  president  of  our  syndicate  and 
had  been  referred  to  the  superintendent,  and 
he  had  sent  How  Long  to  the  auditor,  and  the 
auditor  had  told  him  to  go  to  the  gang  boss 
and  get  his  time,  and  then  proceed  in  the  prop- 
er manner,  after  which,  if  his  claim  turned  out 
to  be  all  right,  we  would  call  a  meeting  of  the 
syndicate  and  take  early  action  in  relation  to 
it.  By  this,  the  reader  will  readily  see  that, 
although  we  were  not  wealthy,  we  know  how 
to  do  business  just  the  same  as  though  we  had 
been  a  wealthy  corporation. 

How  Long  attended  one  of  our  meetings  and 
at  the  close  of  the  session  made  a  few  remarks. 
As  near  as  I  am  able  to  recall  his  language, 
it  was  very  much  as  follows: 

"China  boy  no  sabbe  you  dam  slyndicate. 
You  allee  sam  foolee  me  too  muchee.  How 
Long  no  chopee  big  hole  in  the  glound  allee  day 
for  health.  You  Melican  boy  Laddee  silver 
mine  all  same  funny  business.  Me  no  likee 
slyndicate.  Slyndicate  heap  gone  all  same 
woodbine.  You  sabbe  me?  How  Long  make 
em  slyndicate  pay  tention.  You  April  foolee 
me.    You  makee  me  tlired.    You  putee  me  too 

293 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

much  on  em  slate.  Slyndicate  no  good.  Alice 
time  stanemoff  China  boy.  You  allee  time 
chin  chin.    Dlividend  allee  time  heap  gone." 

Owing  to  a  strike  which  then  took  place  in 
our  mine,  we  found  that,  in  order  to  complete 
our  assessment  work,  wemust  get  in  another 
crew  or  do  the  job  ourselves.  Owing  to  scar- 
city of  help  and  a  feeling  of  antagonism  on 
the  part  of  the  laboring  classes  toward  our 
giant  enterprise,  a  feeling  of  hostility  which 
naturally  exists  between  labor  and  capital,  we 
had  to  go  out  to  the  mine  ourselves.  We  had 
heard  of  other  men  who  had  shoveled  in  their 
Q-wn  mines  and  were  afterward  worth  millions 
of  dollars,  so  we  took  some  bacon  and  other 
delicacies  and  hied  us  to  the  Aladdin. 

Buck,  our  mining  expert,  went  down  first. 
Then  he  requested  us  to  hoist  him  out  again. 
We  did  so.  I  have  forgotten  what  his  first  re- 
mark was  when  he  got  out  of  the  bucket,  but 
that  don't  make  any  difference,  for  I  wouldn't 
care  to  use  it  here  anyway. 

It  seems  that  How  Long,  owing  to  his  heath- 
enish ignorance  of  our  customs  and  the  un- 
avoidable delay  in  adjusting  his  claim  for 
work,  labor  and  services,  had  allowed  his  tem- 
per to  get  the  better  of  him  and  he  had  planted 

294 


I  Have  Forgotten  His  First  Remark. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

a  colony  of  American  skunks  in  the  shaft  of 
the  Aladdin. 

That  is  the  reason  we  left  the  Aladdin  mine 
and  no  one  jumped  it.  We  had  not  done  the 
necessary  work  in  order  to  hold  it,  but  when 
we  went  out  there  the  following  spring  we 
found  that  no  one  had  jumped  it. 

Even  the  rough,  coarse  miner,  far  from  civ- 
ilizing influences  and  beyond  the  reach  of  so- 
cial advantages  recognizes  the  fact  that  this 
little  unostentatious  animal  plodding  along- 
through  life  in  its  own  modest  way,  yet  wields 
a  wonderful  influence  over  the  destinies  of 
man.  So  the  Aladdin  mine  was  not  disturbed 
that  summer. 

We  paid  How  Long,  and  in  the  following 
spring  had  a  flattering  offer  for  the  claim  if 
it  assayed  as  well  as  we  said  it  would,  so  Buck, 
our  expert,  went  out  to  the  Aladdin  with  an 
assayer  and  the  purchaser.  The  assay  of  the 
Aladdin  showed  up  very  rich  indeed,  far  above 
anything  that  I  had  ever  hoped  for,  and  so  we 
made  a  sale.  But  we  never  got  the  money,  for 
when  the  assayer  got  home  he  casually  assayed 
his  apparatus  and  found  that  his  whole  outfit 
had  been  salted  prior  to  the  Aladdin  assay. 

I  do  not  think  our  expert.  Buck,  would  salt 
296 


BILL  NYK'S  RED  BOCK 

an  assayer's  kit,  but  he  was  charged  with  it 
at  this  time,  and  he  said  he  would  rather  lose 
his  trade  than  have  trouble  over  it.  He  would 
rather  suffer  wrong  than  to  do  wrong,  he  said, 
and  so  the  Aladdin  came  back  on  our  hands. 
It  is  not  a  very  good  mine  if  a  man  wants 
it  as  a  source  of  revenue,  but  it  makes  a  mighty 
good  well.  The  water  is  cold  and  clear  as 
crystal.  If  it  stood  in  Boston,  instead  of  out 
there  in  northern  Colorado,  where  you  can't 
get  at  it  more  than  three  months  in  the  year, 
it  would  be  worth  $150.  The  great  fault  of  the 
Aladdin  mine  is  its  poverty  as  a  mine,  and  its 
isolation  as  a  welL 


297 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


AN  OPERATIC  ENTERTAINMENT. 

Last  week  we  went  up  to  the  Coliseum,  at 
Minneapolis,  to  hear  Theodore  Thomas'  or- 
chestra, the  Wagner  trio  and  Christine  Nils- 
son.  The  Coliseum  is  a  large  rink  just  out  of 
Minneapolis,  on  the  road  between  that  city 
and  S't.  Paul.  It  can  seat  4,000  people  com- 
fortably, but  the  management  like  to  wedge 
4,500  people  in  there  on  a  warm  day,  and  then 
watch  the  perspiration  trickle  out  through  the 
clapboards  on  the  outside.  On  the  closing  aft- 
ernoon, during  the  matinee  performance,  the 
building  was  struck  by  lightning  and  a  hole 
knocked  out  of  the  Corinthian  duplex  that  sur- 
mounts the  oblique  portcullis  on  the  ofif  side. 
The  reader  will  see  at  once  the  location  of  the 
bolt. 

The  lightning  struck  the  flag-stafif,  ran 
down  the  leg  of  a  man  who  was  repairing  the 
electric  light,  took  a  chew  of  his  tobacco, 
turned  his  Ijoot  wrong  side  out  and  induced 
him  to  change  his  sock,  toyed  with  a  chilblain, 
wrenched  out  a  soft  corn  and  roguishly  put  it 
in  his  ear,  then  ran  down  the  electric  light  wire, 
a  part  of  it  filling  an  engagement  in  the  Col- 

298 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

iseum  and  the  balance  following  the  wire  to 
the  depot,  where  it  made  double-pointed  tooth- 
picks of  a  pole  fifty  feet  high.  All  this  was 
done  very  briefly.  Those  who  have  seen  light- 
ning toy  with  a  cottonwood  tree,  know  that 
this  fluid  makes  a  specialty  of  it  at  once  and 
in  a  brief  manner.  The  lightning  in  this  case, 
broke  the  glass  in  the  skylight  and  deposited 
the  broken  fragments  on  a  half  dozen  par- 
quette  chairs,  that  were  empty  because  the 
speculators  who  owned  them  couldn't  get  but 
$50  apiece,  and  were  waiting  for  a  man  to 
mortgage  his  residence  and  sell  a  team.  He 
couldn't  make  the  transfer  in  time  for  the  mat- 
inee, so  the  seats  were  vacant  when  the  light- 
ning struck.  The  immediate  and  previous 
fluid  then  shot  athwart  the  auditorium  in  the 
direction  of  the  platform,  where  it  nearly 
frightened  to  death  a  large  chorus  of  children. 
Women  fainted,  ticket  speculators  fell  $2  on 
desirable  seats,  and  strong  men  coughed  up  a 
clove.  The  scene  beggared  description.  I  in- 
tended to  have  said  that  before,  but  forgot  it. 
Theodore  Thomas  drew  in  a  full  breath,  and 
Christine  Nilsson  drew  her  salary.  Two  thou- 
sand strong  men  thought  of  their  wasted  lives, 
and  two  thousand  women  felt  for  their  back 

299 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

hair  to  see  if  it  was  still  there.  I  say  there- 
fore, without  successful  contradiction,  that  the 
scene  beggared  description.     Chestnuts! 

In  the  evening  several  people  sang,  ''The 
Creation."  Nilsson  was  Gabriel.  Gabriel  has 
a  beautiful  voice  cut  low  in  the  neck,  and  sings 
like  a  joyous  bobolink  in  the  dew-saturated 
mead.  How's  that?  Nilsson  is  proud  and 
haughty  in  her  demeanor,  and  I  had  a  good 
notion  to  send  a  note  up  to  her,  stating  that 
she  needn't  feel  so  lofty,  and  if  she  could  sit 
up  in  the  peanut  galler}^  where  I  was  and  look 
at  herself,  with  her  dress  kind  of  sawed  off  at 
the  top,  she  would  not  be  so  vain.  She  wore 
a  diamond  necklace  and  silk  skirt.  The  skirt 
was  cut  princesse,  I  think,  to  harmonize  with 
her  salary.  As  an  old  neighbor  of  mine  said 
when  he  painted  the  top  board  of  his  fence 
green,  he  wanted  it  "to  kind  of  corroborate 
with  his  blinds."  He's  the  same  man  who 
went  to  Washington  about  the  time  of  the 
Guiteau  trial,  and  said  he  was  present  at  the 
"post  mortise"  examination.  But  the  funniest 
thing  of  all,  he  said,  was  to  see  Dr.  Mary  Wal- 
ker riding  one  of  these  "philosophers"  around 
on  the  streets. 

But  I  am  wandering.    We  were  speaking  of 
300 


Making  Himself  Useful. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  Festival.  Theodore  Thomas  is  certainly 
a  great  leader.  What  a  pity  he  is  out  of  poli- 
tics. He  pounded  the  air  all  up  fine  there, 
Thursday.  I  think  he  has  25  small-size  fiddles, 
10  medium-size,  and  5  of  those  hig",  fat  ones 
that  a  bald-headed  man  generally  annoys. 
Then  there  were  a  lot  of  wind  instruments, 
drums,  et  cetera.  There  were  600  performers 
on  the  stage,  counting  the  chorus,  with  4,500 
people  in  the  house  and  8,000  outside  yelling  at 
the  ticket  office — also  at  the  top  of  their  voices 
— and  swearing  because  they  couldn't  mort- 
gage their  immortal  souls  and  hear  Nilsson's 
coin  silver  notes.  It  was  frightful.  The  build- 
ing settled  twelve  inches  in  those  two  hours 
and  a  half,  the  electric  lights  went  out  nine 
times  for  refreshments,  and,  on  the  whole,  the 
entertainment  was  a  grand  success.  The  first 
time  the  lights  adjourned,  an  usher  came  in  on 
the  stage  through  a  side  entrance  wnth  a  kero- 
sene lamp.  I  guess  he  would  ha^•c  stood  there 
and  held  it  for  Nilsson  to  sing  by,  if  4,500  peo- 
ple hadn't  with  one  voice  laughed  him  out  into 
the  starless  night,  ^'ou  might  as  well  have 
tried  to  light  benighted  Africa  with  a  white 
bean.  I  shall  never  forget  how  proud  and 
buoyant  he  looked  as  he  sailed  in  with  that 

302 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

kerosene  lamp  with  a  solid  chimney  on  it,  and 
how  hurt  and  grieved  he  seemed  when  he  took 
it  and  groped  his  way  out  while  the  Coliseum 
trembled  with  ill-concealed  merriment.  I  use 
the  term  "ill-concealed  merriment"  with  per- 
mission of  the  proprietors,  for  this  season  only 


303 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


DOGS  AND  DOG  DAYS. 

I  take  occasion  at  this  time  to  ask  the  Amer- 
ican people  as  one  man,  what  are  we  to  do  to 
prevent  the  spread  of  the  most  insidious  and 
disagreeable  disease  known  as  hydrophobia? 
When  a  fellow-being  has  to  be  smothered,  as 
was  the  case  the  other  day  right  here  in  our 
fair  land,  a  land  where  tyrant  foot  hath  never 
trod  nor  bigot  forged  a  chain,  we  look  anxious- 
ly into  each  others  faces  and  inquire,  what 
shall  we  do? 

Shall  we  go  to  France  at  a  great  expense 
and  fill  our  systems  full  of  dog  virus  and  then 
return  to  our  glorious  land,  where  we  may  fork 
over  that  virus  to  posterity  and  thus  mix  up 
French  hydrophobia  with  the  navy-blue  blood 
of  free-born  American  citizens? 

I  wot  not. 

If  I  knew  that  would  be  my  last  wot  I  would 
not  change  it.    That  is  just  wot  it  would  be. 

But  again. 

What  shall  we  do  to  avoid  getting  impreg- 
nated with  the  American  dog  and  then  sat- 
urating our  systems  with  the  alien  dog  of 
Paris? 

.304 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

It  is  a  serious  matter,  and  if  we  do  not  want 
to  play  the  Desdemona  act  we  must  take  some 
timely  precautions.  What  must  those  precau- 
tions be? 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  the  average  thinking- 
mind  that  we  might  squeeze  along  for  weeks 
without  a  dog?  Whole  families  have  existed 
for  years  after  being  deprived  of  dogs.  Look 
at  the  wealthy  of  our  land.  They  go  on  com- 
fortably through  life  and  die  at  last  with  the 
unanimous  consent  of  their  heirs  dogless. 

Then  why  cannot  the  poor  gradually  taper 
oft  on  dogs?  They  ought  not  to  stop  all  of  a 
sudden,  but  they  could  leave  off  a  dog  at  a 
time  until  at  last  they  overcame  the  pernicious 
habit. 

I  saw  a  man  in  St.  Paul  last  week  who  was 
once  poor,  and  so  owned  seven  variegated 
dogs.  Lie  was  confirmed  in  that  habit.  But 
he  summoned  all  his  will-power  at  last  and 
said  he  would  shake  off  these  dogs  and  be- 
come a  man.  He  did  so,  and  today  he  owns  a 
city  lot  in  St.  Paul,  and  seems  to  be  the  picture 
of  health. 

The  trouble  about  maintaining  a  dog  is  that 
he  may  go  on  for  years  in  a  quiet,  gentlemanly 

305 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

way,  winning  the  regard  of  all  who  know  him, 
and  then  all  of  a  sudden  he  may  hydrophobe 
in  the  most  violent  manner.  Not  only  that, 
but  he  may  do  so  while  we  have  company.  He 
may  also  bite  our  twins  or  the  twins  of  our 
warmest  friends.  He  may  bite  us  now  and  we 
may  laugh  at  it,  but  in  five  years  from  now, 
while  we  are  delivering  a  humorous  lecture,  we 
may  burst  forth  into  the  audience  and  bite  a 
beautiful  young  lady  in  the  parquet  or  on  the 
ear. 

It  is  a  solemn  thing  to  think  of,  fellow-citi- 
zens, and  I  appeal  to  those  who  may  read  this, 
as  a  man  who  may  not  live  to  see  a  satisfactory 
political  reform — I  appeal  to  you  to  refrain 
from  the  dog.  He  is  purely  ornamental.  We 
may  love  a  good  dog,  but  we  ought  to  love  our 
children  more.  It  would  be  a  very,  very  noble 
and  expensive  dog  that  I  would  agree  to  feed 
with  my  only  son. 

I  know  that  we  gradually  become  attached 
to  a  good  dog,  but  some  day  he  may  become 
attached  to  us,  and  what  can  be  sadder  than 
the  sight  of  a  leading  citizen  drawing  a  reluc- 
tant mad  dog  down  the  street  by  main  strength 
and  the  seat  of  his  pantaloons?     (I  mean  his 

306 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

own,  not  the  dog's  pants.  This  joke  will  ap- 
pear in  book  form  in  April.  The  book  will  be 
very  readable,  and  there  will  be  another  joke 
in  it  also,  eod  tf.) 

I  have  said  a  good  deal  about  the  dog,  pro 
and  con,  and  I  am  not  a  rabid  dog  abolition- 
ist, for  no  one  loves  to  have  his  clear-cut  feat- 
ures licked  by  the  warm,  wet  tongue  of  a  noble 
dog  any  more  than  I  do,  but  rather  than  see 
hydrophobia  become  a  national  characteristic 
or  a  leading  industry  here,  I  would  forego  the 
dog. 

Perhaps  all  men  are  that  way,  however. 
When  they  get  a  little  forehanded  they  forget 
that  they  were  once  poor,  and  owned  dogs.  If 
so,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  unfair.  I  want  to  be 
just,  and  I  believe  I  am.  Let  us  yield  up  our 
dogs  and  tack  the  affection  that  we  would  oth- 
erwise bestow  on  them  on  some  human  being. 
I  have  tried  it  and  it  works  well.  There  are 
thousands  of  people  in  the  world,  of  both  sexes, 
who  are  pining  and  starving  for  the  love  and 
money  that  we  daily  shower  on  the  dog. 

If  the  dog  would  be  kind  enough  to  refrain 
from  introducing  his  justly  celebrated  virus 
into  the  person  of  those  only  who  kiss  him  on 

307 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  cold,  moist  nose,  it  would  be  all  right;  but 
when  a  dog  goes  mad  he  is  very  impulsive,  and 
he  may  bestow  himself  on  an  obscure  man. 
So  I  feel  a  little  nervous  myself. 


308 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS. 

Probably  few  people  have  been  more  suc- 
cessful in  the  discovering  line  than  Chris- 
topher Columbus.  Living  as  he  did  in  a  day 
when  a  great  many  things  were  still  in  an  un- 
discovered state,  the  horizon  was  filled  with 
golden  opportunities  for  a  man  possessed  of 
Mr.  C.'s  pluck  and  ambition.  His  life  at  first 
was  filled  with  rebuffs  and  disappointments, 
but  at  last  he  grew  to  be  a  man  of  importance 
in  his  own  profession,  and  the  people  who 
wanted  anything  discovered  would  always 
bring  it  to  him  rather  than  take  it  elsewhere. 

And  yet  the  life  of  Columbus  was  a  stormy 
one.  Though  he  discovered  a  continent  where- 
in a  millionaire  attracts  n6  attention,  he  him- 
self was  very  poor. 

Though  he  rescued  from  barbarism  a  broad 
and  beautiful  land  in  whose  metropolis  the 
theft  of  less  than  half  a  million  of  dollars  is 
regarded  as  petty  larceny,  Chris  himself  often 
went  to  bed  hungry.  Is  it  not  singular  that 
the  gray-eyfed  and  gentle  Columbus  should 
have  added  a  hemisphere  to  the  history  of  our 

3<^ 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

globe,  a  hemisphere,  too,  where  pie  is  a  com- 
mon thing,  not  only  on  Sunday,  but  through- 
out the  week,  and  yet  that  he  should  have  gone 
down  to  his  grave  pieless! 

Such  is  the  history  of  progress  in  all  ages 
and  in  all  lines  of  thought  and  investigation. 
Such  is  the  meagre  reward  of  the  pioneer  in 
new  fields  of  action. 

I  presume  that  America  today  has  a  larger 
pie  area  than  any  other  land  in  which  the  Cock- 
ney English  language  is  spoken.  Right  here 
where  millions  of  native  born  Americans  dwell, 
many  of  whom  are  ashamed  of  the  fact  that 
they  were  born  here  and  which  shame  is  en- 
tirely mutual  between  the  Goddess  of  Liberty 
and  themselves,  we  have  a  style  of  pie  that  no 
other  land  can  boast  of. 

From  the  bleak  and  acid  dried  apple  pie  of 
Maine  to  the  irrigated  mince  pie  of  the  blue 
Pacific,  all  along  down  the  long  line  of  igne- 
ous, volcanic  and  stratified  pie,  America,  the 
land  of  the  freedom  bird  with  the  high  instep 
to  his  nose,  leads  the  world. 

Other  lands  may  point  with  undissembled 
pride  to  their  polygamy  and  their  cholera,  but 
we  reck  not.  Our  polygamy  here  is  still  in  its 
infancy  and  our  leprosy  has  had  the  disadvan- 

310 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

tage  of  a  cold,  backward  spring,  but  look  at 
our  pie. 

Throughout  a  long  and  disastrous  war, 
sometimes  referred  to  as  a  fraticidal  war,  dur- 
ing which  this  fair  land  was  drenched  in  blood, 
and  also  during  which  aforesaid  war  numerous 
frightful  blunders  were  made  which  are  fast 
coming  to  the  surface — through  the  courtesy 
of  participants  in  said  war  who  have  patiently 
waited  for  those  who  blundered  to  die  off,  and 
now  admit  that  said  participants  who  are  dead 
did  blunder  exceedingly  throughout  all  this 
long  and  deadly  struggle  for  the  supremacy 
of  liberty  and  right — as  I  was  about  to  say 
when  my  mind  began  to  wobble,  the  American 
pie  has  shown  forth  resplendent  in  the  full 
glare  of  a  noonday  sun  or  beneath  the  pale- 
green  of  the  electric  light,  and  she  stands  forth 
proudly  today  with  her  undying  loyalty  to 
dyspepsia  untrammeled  and  her  deep  and  dead- 
ly gastric  antipathy  still  fiercely  burning  in 
her  breast. 

That  is  the  proud  history  of  American  pie. 
Powers,  principalities,  kingdoms  and  hand- 
made dynasties  may  crumble,  but  the  republi- 
can form  of  pie  does  not  crumble.  Tyranny 
may  totter  on  its  throne,  but  the  American  pie 

3n 


BIEL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

does  not  totter.  Not  a  tot.  No  foreign  threat 
has  ever  been  able  to  make  our  common  chick- 
en pie  quail.  I  do  not  say  this  because  it  is 
smart;  I  simply  say  it  to  fill  up. 

But  would  it  not  do  Columbus  good  to  come 
among  us  today  and  look  over  our  free  institu- 
tions? Would  it  not  please  him  to  ride  over 
this  continent  which  has  been  rescued  by  his 
presence  of  mind  from  the  thraldom  of  bar- 
barism and  forked  over  to  the  genial  and  refin- 
ing influences  of  prohibition  and  pie? 

America  fills  no  mean  niche  in  the  great  his- 
tory of  nations,  and  if  you  listen  carefully  for 
a  few  moments  you  will  hear  some  Ameri- 
can, with  his  mouth  full  of  pie,  make  that  re- 
mark. The  American  is  always  frank  and  per- 
fectly free  to  state  that  no  other  country  can 
approach  this  one.  We  allow  no  little  two-for- 
a-quarter  monarchy  to  excel  us  in  the  size  of 
our  failures  or  in  the  calm  and  self-poised  de- 
liberation with  which  we  erect  a  monument  to- 
the  glory  of  a  worthy  citizen  who  is  dead,  and 
therefore  politically  useless. 

The  careless  student  of  the  career  of  Colum- 
bus will  find  much  in  these  lines  that  he  has 
not  vet  seen.  He  will  realize  when  he  comes 
to  read  this  little  sketch  the  pains  and  th« 


BIIX  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

trouble  and  the  research  necessary  before  such 
an  article  on  the  life  and  work  of  Columbus 
could  be  written,  and  he  will  thank  me  for  it; 
but  it  not  for  that  that  I  have  done  it.  It  is  a 
pleasure  for  me  to  hunt  up  and  arrange  his- 
torical and  biographical  data  in  a  pleasing  form 
for  the  student  and  savant.  I  am  only  too 
glad  to  please  and  gratify  the  student  and  the 
savant.  I  was  that  way  myself  once  and  I 
know  how  to  sympathize  with  them. 

P.  S. — I  neglected  to  state  that  Columbus 
was  a  married  man.  Still,  he  did  not  murmur 
or  repine. 


$^S 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


ACCEPTING  THE  LARAMIE  POST- 
OFFICE. 

Office  of  Daily  Boomerang, 
Laramie  City,  Wy.,  Aug.  9,  1882. 

My  Dear  General. — I  have  received  by  tele- 
graph the  news  of  my  nomination  by  the  Pres- 
ident and  my  confirmation  by  the  Senate,  as 
postmaster  at  Laramie,  and  wish  to  extend  my 
thanks  for  the  same. 

I  have  ordered  an  entirely  new  set  of  boxes 
and  postoffice  outfit,  including  new  corrugated 
cuspidors  for  the  lady  clerks. 

I  look  upon  the  appointment,  myself,  as  a 
great  triumph  of  eternal  truth  over  error  and 
wrong.  It  is  one  of  the  epochs,  I  may  say,  in 
the  Nation's  onward  march  toward  political 
purity  and  perfection.  I  do  not  know  when 
I  have  noticed  any  stride  in  the  aflfairs  of  state, 
which  so  thoroughly  impressed  me  with  its 
wisdom. 

Now  that  we  are  co-workers  in  the  same  de- 
partment, I  trust  that  you  will  not  feel  shy  or 
backward  in  consulting  me  at  any  time  relative 
to  matters  concerning  postoffice  affairs.     Be 

314 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

perfectly  frank  with  me,  and  feel  perfectly  free 
to  just  bring  anything  of  that  kind  right  to 
me.  Do  not  feel  reluctant  because  I  may  at 
times  appear  haughty  and  indifferent,  cold  or 


A  New  Office  Outfit. 


reserved.  Perhaps  you  do  not  think  I  know  the 
difference  between  a  general  delivery  window 
and  a  three-m  quad,  but  that  is  a  mistake. 

My  general  information  is  far  beyond  my 
years. 

With  profoundest  regard,  and  a  hearty  en- 

3^5 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

dorsement  of  the  policy  of  the  President  and 
the  Senate,  whatever  it  may  be, 
I  remain,  sincerely  yours, 

Bill  Nye,  P.  M. 
Gen.  Frank  Hatton,  Washington,  D,  C, 


316 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


A  JOURNALISTIC  TENDERFOOT. 

Most  everyone  who  has  tried  the  pubHca- 
tion  of  a  newspaper  will  call  to  mind  as  he 
reads  this  item,  a  similar  experience,  though, 
perhaps,  not  so  pronounced  and  protuberant. 

Early  one  sum.mer  morning  a  gawky  young 
tenderfoot,  both  as  to  the  West  and  the  de- 
tails of  journalism,  came  into  the  office  and 
asked  me  for  a  job  as  correspondent  to  write 
up  the  mines  in  North  Park.  He  wore  his 
hair  longish  and  tried  to  make  it  curl.  The 
result  was  a  greasy  coat  collar  and  the  gen- 
eral tout  ensemble  of  the  genus  "smart  Aleck." 
He  had  also  clothed  himself  in  the  extravagant 
clothes  of  the  dime  novel  scout  and  beautiful 
girl-rescuer  of  the  Indian  country.  He  had 
been  driven  west  by  a  wild  desire  to  hunt  the 
flagrant  Sioux  warrior,  and  do  a  general  Wild 
Bill  business;  hoping,  no  doubt,  before  the  sea- 
son closed,  to  rescue  enough  beautiful  captive 
maidens  to  get  up  a  young  V^assar  College  in 
Wyoming  or  Montana. 

I  told  him  that  we  did  not  care  for  a  mining 
correspondent  who  did  not  know  a  piece  of 
blossom   rock  from  a  geranium.     I   knew   it 

317 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

took  a  man  a  good  many  years  to  gain  knowl- 
edge enough  to  know  where  to  sink  a  pros- 
pect shaft  even,  and  as  to  passing  opinions  on 
a  vein,  it  would  seem  almost  wicked  and  sac- 
rilegious to  send  a  man  out  there  among  those 
old  grizzly  miners  who  had  spent  their  lives 
in  bitter  experience,  unless  the  young  man 
could  readily  distinguish  the  points  of  differ- 
ence between  a  chunk  of  free  milling  quartz 
and  a  fragment  of  bologna  sausage. 

He  still  thought  he  could  write  us  letters 
that  would  do  the  paper  some  eternal  good, 
and  though  I  told  him,  as  he  wrung  my  hand 
and  left,  to  refrain  from  writing  or  doing  any 
work  for  us,  he  wrote  a  letter  before  he  had 
reached  the  home  station  on  the  stage  road,  or 
at  least  sent  us  a  long  letter  from  there.  It 
might  have  been  written  before  he  started,, 
however. 

The  letter  was  of  the  "we-have-went"  and 
"I-have-never-saw"  variety,  and  he  spelt  curi- 
osity "qrossity."  He  worked  hard  to  get  the 
word  into  his  alleged  letter,  and  then  assas- 
sinated it. 

Well,  we  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  the 
letter,  but  meantime  he  got  into  the  mines, 
and   the  way  he  dead-headed  feed  and   sour 

318 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

mash,  on  the  strength  of  his  relations  with  the 
press,  made  the  older  miners  weep. 

Buck  Bramel  got  a  little  worried  and  wrote 
to  me  about  it.  He  said  that  our  soft-eyed 
mining  savant  was  getting  us  a  good  many 
subscribers,  and  writing  up  every  little  gopher 
hole  in  North  Park,  and  living  on  Cincinnati 
quail,  as  we  miners  call  bacon;  but  he  said  that 
none  of  these  fine,  blooming  letters,  regarding 
the  assays  on  "The  Weasel  Asleep,"  "The 
Pauper'sDream,"  "The  Mary  Ellen"  and  "The 
Over  Draft,"  ever  seemed  to  crop  out  in  the 
paper. 

Why  was  it? 

I  wrote  back  that  the  white-eyed  pelican 
from  the  buckwheat-enamelled  plains  of  Ar- 
kansas had  not  remitted,  was  not  employed  by 
us,  and  that  I  would  write  and  publish  a  little 
card  of  introduction  for  the  bilious  litterateur 
that  would  make  people  take  in  their  domestic 
animals,  and  lock  up  their  front  fences  and  gar- 
den fountains. 

In  the  meantime  they  sent  him  up  the  gulch 
to  find  some  "float."  He  had  wandered  away 
from  camp  thirty  miles  before  he  remembered 
that  he  didn't  know  what  float  looked  like. 
Then  he  thought  he  would  go  back  and  in- 

319 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

quire.  He  got  lost  while  in  a  dark  brown  study 
and  drifted  into  the  bosom  of  the  unknowable. 
He  didn't  miss  the  trail  until  a  perpendicular 
wall  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  about  900  feet 
high,  rose  up  and  hit  him  athwart  the  nose. 

He  communed  with  nature  and  the  coyotes 
one  night  and  had  a  pretty  tough  time  of  it.  He 
froze  his  nose  partially  off,  and  the  coyotes 
came  and  gnawed  his  little  dimpled  toes.  He 
passed  a  wretched  night  and  was  greatly  an- 
noyed by  the  cold,  which  at  that  elevation 
sends  the  mercury  toward  zero  all  through  the 
summer  nights. 

Of  course  he  pulled  the  zodiac  partially  over 
him,  and  tried  to  button  his  alapaca  duster  a 
little  closer,  but  his  sleep  was  troubled  by  the 
sociability  of  the  coyotes  and  the  midnight 
twitter  of  the  mountain  lion.  He  ate  moss 
agates  rare  and  spruce  gum  for  breakfast. 
When  he  got  to  the  camp  he  looked  like  a 
forty-day  starvationist  hunting  for  a  job. 

They  asked  him  if  he  found  any  float,  and 
he  said  he  didn't  find  a  blamed  drop  of  water, 
say  nothing  about  float,  and  then  they  all 
laughed  a  merry  laugh,  and  said  that  if  he 
showed  up  at  daylight  the  next  morning  with- 

320 


Communing  With  Nature. 


BILL  NYE'B  RED  BOOK 

in  the  limits  of  the  park,  the  orders  were  to 
burn  him  at  the  stake. 

The  next  morning  neither  he  nor  the  best 
bay  mule  on  the  Troublesome  was  to  be  seen 
with  naked  eye.  After  that  we  heard  of  him 
in  the  San  Juan  country. 

He  had  lacerated  the  finer  feelings  of  the 
miners  down  there,  and  had  violated  the  eti- 
quette of  San  Juan,  so  they  kicked  a  flour  bar- 
rel out  from  under  him  one  day  when  he  was 
looking  the  other  way,  and  being  a  poor  tight- 
rope performer,  he  got  tangled  up  with  a  piece 
of  inch  rope  in  such  a  way  that  he  died  of  his 
injuries. 


322 


LILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  AMATEUR  CARPENTER. 

In  my  opinion  every  professional  man  should 
keep  a  chest  of  carpenters'  tools  in  his  barn  or 
shop,  and  busy  himself  at  odd  hours  with  them 
in  constructing  the  varied  articles  that  are  al- 
ways needed  about  the  house.  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure  in  feeling  your  own  indepen- 
dence of  other  trades,  and  more  especially  of 
the  carpenter.  Every  now  and  then  your  wife 
will  want  a  bracket  put  up  in  some  corner  or 
other,  and  with  your  new,  bright  saw  and  glit- 
tering hammer  you  can  put  up  one  upon  which 
she  can  hang  a  cast-iron  horse-blanket  lambre- 
quin, with  inflexible  water  lilies. sewed  in  it. 

A  man  will,  if  he  tries,  readily  learn  to  do  a 
great  many  such  little  things  and  his  wife  will 
brag  on  him  to  other  ladies,  and  they  will  make 
invidious  comparisons  betw^een  their  husbands 
who  can't  do  anything  of  that  kind  what- 
ever, and  you  who  are  ''so  handy." 

Firstly,  you  buy  a  set  of  amateur  carpenter 
tools.  You  do  not  need  to  say  that  you  are  an 
amateur.  The  dealer  will  find  that  out  when 
you  ask  him  for  an  easy-running  broad-ax  or 
a  green-gage  plumb  line.     He  will  sell  you  a 

3^3 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

set  of  amateurs  tools  that  will  be  made  of  old 
sheet-iron  with  basswood  handles,  and  the 
saws  will  double  up  like  a  piece  of  stovepipe. 

After  you  have  nailed  a  board  on  the  fence 
successfully,  you  will  very  naturally  desire  to 
do  something  much  better,  more  difficult.  You 
will  probably  try  to  erect  a  parlor  table  or 
rustic  settee. 

I  made  a  very  handsome  bracket  last  week, 
and  I  was  naturally  proud  of  it.  In  fastening- 
it  together,  if  I  hadn't  inadvertently  nailed  it 
to  the  barn  floor,  I  guess  I  could  have  used 
it  very  well,  but  in  tearing  it  loose  from  the 
barn,  so  that  the  two  could  be  used  separately, 
I  ruined  a  bracket  that  was  intended  to  serve 
as  the  base,  as  it  were,  of  a  lambrequin  which 
cost  nine  dollars,  aside  from  the  time  expended 
on  it. 

During  the  month  of  March  I  built  an  ice- 
chest  for  this  summer.  It  was  not  handsome, 
but  it  was  roomy,  and  would  be  very  nice  for 
the  season  of  1886,  I  thought.  It  worked 
pretty  well  through  March  and  April,  but  as 
the  weather  begins  to  warm  up  that  ice-chest 
is  about  the  warmest  place  around  the  house. 
There  is  actually  a  glow  of  heat  around  that 
ice-chest  that  I  don't  notice  elsewhere.     I've 

324 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

shown  it  to  several  personal  friends.  They 
seem  to  think  it  is  not  built  tightly  enough  for 
an  ice-chest.  My  brother  looked  at  it  yester- 
day, and  said  that  his  idea  of  an  ice-chest  was 
that  it  ought  to  be  tight  enough  at  least  to 
hold  the  larger  chunks  of  ice  so  that  they  would 
not  escape  through  the  pores  of  the  ice-box. 
He  says  he  never  built  one,  but  that  it  stood  to 
reason  that  a  refrigerator  like  that  ought  to 
be  constructed  so  that  it  would  keep  the  cows 
out  of  it.  Vou  don't  want  to  have  a  refrigera- 
tor that  the  cattle  can  get  through  the  cracks 
of  and  eat  up  your  strawberries  on  ice,  he  says. 

A  neighbor  of  mine  who  once  built  a  hen 
resort  of  laths,  and  now  wears  a  thick  thumb- 
nail that  looks  like  a  Brazil  nut  as  a  memento 
of  that  pullet  corral,  says  my  ice-chest  is  all 
right  enough,  only  that  it  is  not  suited  to  this 
climate.  He  thinks  that  along  Behring's 
Strait,  during  the  holidays,  my  ice-chest  would 
work  like  a  charm.  And  even  here,  he  thought, 
if  I  could  keep  the  fever  out  of  my  chest  there 
would  be  less  pain. 

I  have  made  several  other  little  articles  of 
virtu  this  spring,  to  the  construction  of  which 
I  have  contributed  a  good  deal  of  time  and  two 
finger  nails.     I  have  also  sawed  into  my  leg 

325 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

two  or  three  times.  The  leg,  of  course,  will  get 
well,  but  the  pantaloons  will  not.  Parties  wish- 
ing to  meet  me  in  my  studio  during  the  morn- 
ing hour  will  turn  into  the  alley  between 
Eighth  and  Ninth  streets,  enter  the  third  stable 
door  on  the  left,  pass  around  behind  my  Gothic 
horse,  and  give  the  countersign  and  three  kicks 
on  the  door  in  an  ordinary  tone  of  voice. 


326 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  AVERAGE  HEN. 

I  am  convinced  that  there  is  great  economy 
in  keeping  hens  if  we  have  sufficient  room  for 
them  and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  how  to 
manage  the  fowl  properly.  But  to  the  profes- 
sional man,  who  is  not  familiar  with  the  hab- 
its of  the  hen,  and  whose  mind  does  not  natur- 
ally and  instinctively  turn  henward  I  would 
say:  Shun  her  as  you  would  the  deadly  upas 
tree  of  Piscataquis  County,  Me. 

Nature  has  endowed  the  hen  with  but  a  lim- 
ited amount  of  brain-force.  Any  one  will  no- 
tice that  if  he  will  compare  the  skull  of  the 
average  self-made  hen  with  that  of  Daniel 
Webster,  taking  careful  measurements  directly 
over  the  top  from  one  ear  to  the  other,  the 
well-informed  brain  student  w^ill  at  once  notice 
a  great  falling-ofif  in  the  region  of  reverence 
and  an  abnormal  bulging  out  in  the  location 
of  alimentiveness. 

Now  take  your  tape-measure  and,  beginning 
at  memory,  pass  carefully  over  the  occipital 
bone  to  the  base  of  the  brain  in  the  region  of 
love  of  home  and  offspring  and  you  will  see 
that,  while  the  hen  suffers  much  in  comparison 

-1 '?  — 

0-/ 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

with  the  statement  in  the  relative  size  of  sub- 
limity, reflection,  spirituality,  time,  tune,  etc., 
when  it  comes  to  love  of  home  and  offspring 
she  shines  forth  with  great  splendor. 

The  hen  does  not  care  for  the  sublime  in 
nature.  Neither  does  she  care  for  music.  Mu- 
sic hath  no  charms  to  soften  her  tough  old 
breast.  But  she  loves  her  home  and  her  coun- 
try. I  have  sought  to  promote  the  interests  of 
the  hen  to  some  extent,  but  I  have  not  been 
a  marked  success  in  that  line. 

I  can  write  a  poem  in  fifteen  minutes.  I  al- 
ways could  dash  off  a  poem  whenever  I  wanted 
to,  and  a  very  good  poem,  too,  for  a  dashed 
poem.  I  could  write  a  speech  for  a  friend  in 
congress — a  speech  that  would  be  printed  in 
the  Congressional  Record  and  go  all  over  the 
United  States  and  be  read  by  no  one.  I  could 
enter  the  field  of  letters  anywhere  and  attract 
attention,  but  when  it  comes  to  setting  a  hen 
I  feel  that  T  am  not  worthy.  I  never  feel  my 
utter  unworthiness  as  I  do  in  the  presence  of  a 
setting  hen. 

When  the  adult  hen  in  my  presence  ex- 
presses a  desire  to  set  I  excuse  myself  and  go 
away.  That  is  the  supreme  moment  when  a 
hen  desires  to  be  alone.    That  is  no  time  for 

>28 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

me  to  introduce  my  shallow  levity.  I  never 
do  it. 

It  is  after  death  that  I  most  fully  appreciate 
the  hen.  When  she  has  been  cut  down  early 
in  life  and  fried  I  respect  her.  No  one  can 
look  upon  the  still  features  of  a  young-  hen 
overtaken  by  death  in  life's  young  morning, 
snuffed  out  as  it  were,  like  an  old  tin  lantern 
in  a  gale  of  wind,  without  being  visibly  af- 
fected. 

But  it  is  not  the  hen  who  desires  to  set  for 
the  purpose  of  getting  out  an  early  edition  of 
spring  chickens  that  I  am  averse  to.  It  is  the 
aged  hen,  who  is  in  her  dotage,  and  whose  eggs, 
also,  are  in  their  second  childhood.  Upon  this 
hen  I  shower  my  anathemas.  Overlooked  by 
the  pruning-hook  of  time,  shallow  in  her  re- 
marks, and  a  wall-flower  in  society,  she  de- 
posits her  quota  of  eggs  in  the  catnip  conserva- 
tory, far  from  the  haunts  of  men,  and  then  in 
August,  when  eggs  are  extremely  low  and  her 
collection  of  no  value  to  any  one  but  the  anti- 
quarian, she  proudly  calls  attention  to  her  sum- 
mer's work. 

This  hen  does  not  win  the  general  confi- 
dence. Shunned  by  good  society  during  life, 
her  death  is  only  regretted  by  those  who  are 

329 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

called  upon  to  assist  at  her  obsequies.  Selftsh 
through  life,  her  death  is  regarded  as  a  calam- 
ity by  those  alone  who  are  expected  to  eat 
her. 

And  what  has  such  a  hen  to  look  back  upon 
in  her  closing  hours  ?    A  long  life,  perhaps,  for 


The  Result  of  Patience. 


longevity  is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  this 
class  of  hens;  but  of  what  has  that  life  been 
productive?  How  many  golden  hours  has  she 
frittered  away  hovering  over  a  porcelain  door- 
knob trying  to  hatch  out  a  litter  of  Queen 
Anne  cottages.  How  many  nights  has  she 
passed  in  solitude  on  her  lonely  nest,  with  a 
heart  filled  with  bitterness  toward  all  man- 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

kind,  hoping  on  against  hope  that  in  the  fall 
she  would  come  off  the  nest  with  a  cunning 
little  brick  block,  perhaps. 

Such  is  the  history  of  the  aimless  hen.  While 
others  were  at  work  she  stood  around  with 
her  hands  in  her  pockets  and  criticised  the  pol- 
icy of  those  who  labored,  and  when  the  sum- 
mer  waned  she  came  forth  with  nothing  but 
regret  to  wander  listlessly  about  and  freeze 
off  some  more  of  her  feet  during  the  winter. 
For  such  a  hen  death  can  have  no  terrors. 


331 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


WOODTICK  WILLIAM'S  STORY. 

"We  had  about  as  ornery  and  triflin'  a  crop 
of  kids  in  Calaveras  county,  thirty  years  ago, 
as  you  could  gather  in  with  a  fine-tooth  comb 
and  a  brass  band  in  fourteen  States.  For  ways 
that  was  kittensome  they  were  moderately  act- 
ive and  abnormally  protuberant.  That  was  the 
prevailing  style  of  Calaveras  kid,  when  Mr. 
George  W.  Mulqueen  come  there  and  wanted 
to  engage  the  school  at  the  old  camp,  where 
I  hung  up  in  the  days  when  the  country  was 
new  and  the  murmur  of  the  six-shooter  was 
heard  in  the  land. 

''George  W.  Mulqueen  was  a  slender  young 
party  from  the  effete  East,  with  conscientious 
scruples  and  a  hectic  flush.  Both  of  these  was 
agin  him  for  a  promoter  of  school  discipline 
and  square  root.  He  had  a  heap  of  informa- 
tion and  big  sorrowful  eyes. 

''So  fur  as  I  was  concerned,  I  didn't  feel 
like  swearing  around  George  or  using  any  lan- 
guage that  would  sound  irrelevant  in  a  ladies' 
boodore;  but  as  for  the  kids  of  the  school,  they 
didn't  care  a  blamed  cent.  They  just  hollered 
and  whooped  like  a  passle  of  Sioux. 


Winning  Their  Young  Love. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

"They  didn't  seem  to  respect  literary  attain- 
ments or  expensive  knowledge.  They  just  sim- 
ply seemed  to  respect  the  genius  that  come  to 
that  country  to  win  their  young  love  with  a 
long-handled  shovel  and  a  blood-shot  tone  of 
voice.  That's  what  seemed  to  catch  the  Cal- 
averas kids  in  the  early  days. 

"George  had  weak  lungs,  and  they  kept  to 
work  at  him  till  they  drove  him  into  a  moun- 
tain fever,  and  finally  into  a  metallic  sarcoph- 
agus. 

"Along  about  the  holidays  the  sun  went 
down  on  George  W.  Mulqueen's  life,  just  as 
the  eternal  sunlight  lit  up  the  dewy  eyes.  You 
will  pardon  my  manner,  Nye,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  just  as  if  George  had  climbed  up  to  the 
top  of  Mount  Cavalry,  or  wherever  it  was,  with 
that  whole  school  on  his  back,  and  had  to  give 
up  at  last. 

"It  seemed  kind  of  tough  to  me,  and  I 
couldn't  help  blamin'  it  onto  the  school  some, 
for  there  was  a  half  a  dozen  big  snoozers  that 
didn't  go  to  school  to  learn,  but  just  to  raise 
Ned  and  turn  up  Jack. 

"Well,  they  killed  him,  anyhow,  and  that 
settled  it. 

5ff  5|C  3JC  3|C  3fC  ^ 

334 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

"The  school  run  kind  of  wild  till  Feboowary, 
and  then  a  husky  young  tenderfoot,  with  a  fist 
like  a  mule's  foot  in  full  bloom,  made  an  ap- 
plication for  the  place,  and  allowed  he  thought 
he  could  maintain  discipline  if  they'd  give  him 
a  chance.  Well,  they  ast  him  when  he  wanted 
to  take  his  place  as  tutor,  and  he  reckoned  he 
could  begin  to  tute  about  Monday  follering. 

"Sunday  afternoon  he  went  up  to  the  school- 
house  to  look  over  the  ground,  and  to  arrange 
a  plan  for  an  active  Injin  campaign  agin  the 
hostile  hoodlums  of  Calaveras. 

"Monday  he  sailed  in  about  9  a.  m.  with  his 
grip-sack,  and  begun  the  discharge  of  his 
juties. 

"He  brought  in  a  bunch  of  mountain-willers, 
and,  after  driving  a  big  railroad-spike  into  the 
door-casing,  over  the  latch,  he  said  the  senate 
and  house  would  sit  with  closed  doors  during 
the  morning  session.  Several  large,  white- 
eyed  holy  terrors  gazed  at  him  in  a  kind  of 
dumb,  inquiring  tone  of  voice,  but 

"People  passing  by  thought  they  must  be 
beating  carpets  in  the  school-house.  He 
pointed  the  gun  at  his  charge  with  his  left  and 
manipulated  the  gad  with  his  right  duke.  One 
large,  overgrown  Missourian  tried  to  crawl  out 

335 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

of  the  winder,  but,  after  he  had  looked  down 
the  barrel  of  the  shooter  a  moment,  he  changed 
his  mind.  He  seemed  to  realize  that  it  would 
be  a  violation  of  the  rules  of  the  school,  so  he 
came  back  and  sat  down. 

"After  he  wore  out  the  foliage,  Bill,  he  pulled 
the  spike  out  of  that  door,  put  on  his  coat  and 
went  away.  He  never  was  seen  there  again. 
He  didn't  ask  for  any  salary,  but  just  walked 
off  quietly,  and  that  summer  we  accidently 
heard  that  he  was  George  W.  Mulqueen's 
brother." 


336 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


IN  WASHINGTON. 

I  have  just  returned  from  a  polite  and 
recherche  party  here.  Washington  is  the  hot- 
bed of  gayety,  and  general  headquarters  for 
the  recherche  business.  It  would  be  hard  to 
find  a  bontonger  aggregation  than  the  one  I 
was  just  at,  to  use  the  words  of  a  gentleman 
who  was  there,  and  who  asked  me  if  I  wrote 
'The  Heathen  Chinee." 

He  was  a  very  talented  man,  with  a  broad 
sweep  of  skull  and  a  vague  yearning  for  some- 
thing more  tangible — to  drink.  He  was  in 
Washington,  he  said,  in  the  interests  of  Mingo 
county.  I  forgot  to  ask  him  where  Mingo 
county  might  be.  He  took  a  great  interest  in 
me,  and  talked  with  me  long  after  he  really 
had  anything  to  say.  He  was  one  of  those 
fluent  conversationalists  frequently  met  with 
in  society.  He  used  one  of  these  web-perfecting 
talkers — the  kind  that  can  be  fed  with  raw 
Roman  punch,  and  that  will  turn  out  punctu- 
ated talk  in  links,  like  varnished  sausages. 
Being  a  poor  talker  myself,  and  rather  more 
fluent  as  a  listener,  I  did  not  interrupt  him. 

He  said  that  he  was  sorry  to  notice  how 

337 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

young  girls  and  their  parents  came  to  Wash- 
ington as  they  would  to  a  matrimonial  mar- 
ket. 

I  was  sorry  also  to  hear  it.  It  pained  me  to 
know  that  young  ladies  should  allow  them- 
selves to  be  bamboozled  into  matrimony. 
Why  was  it,  I  asked,  that  matrimony  should 
ever  single  out  the  young  and  fair? 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "it  is  indeed  rough !" 

He  then  breathed  a  sigh  that  shook  the 
foliage  of  the  speckled  geranium  near  by,  and 
killed  an  artificial  caterpillar  that  hung  on  its 
branches. 

"Matrimony  is  all  right,"  said  he,  "if  prop- 
erly brought  about.  It  breaks  my  heart, 
though,  to  notice  how  Washington  is  used  as 
a  matrimonial  market.  It  seems  to  me  almost 
as  if  these  here  young  ladies  were  brought 
here  like  slaves  and  exposed  for  sale."  I  had 
noticed  that  they  were  somewhat  exposed,  but 
I  did  not  know  that  they  were  for  sale.  I  asked 
him  if  the  waists  of  party  dresses  had  always 
been  so  sadly  in  the  minority,  and  he  said  they 
had. 

T  do  not  think  a  lady  ought  to  give  too  much 
thought  to  her  apparel;  neither  should  she 
feel  too  much  above  her  clothes.    T  say  this  in 

33S 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  kindest  spirit,  because  I  believe  that  man 
should  be  a  friend  to  woman.  No  family  circle 
is  complete  without  a  woman.  She  is  like  a 
glad  landscape  to  the  weary  eye.  Individually 
and  collectively,  woman  is  a  great  adjunct  of 
civilization  and  progress.  The  electric  light 
is  a  good  thing,  but  how  pale  and  feeble  it 
looks  by  the  light  of  a  good  woman's  eyes. 
The  telephone  is  a  great  invention.  It  is  a 
good  thing  to  talk  at,  and  murmur  into  and 
deposit  profanity  in ;  but  to  take  up  a  conver- 
sation, and  keep  it  up,  and  follow  a  man  out 
through  the  front  door  with  it,  the  telephone 
has  still  much  to  learn  from  woman. 

It  is  said  that  our  government  officials  are 
not  sufficiently  paid;  and  I  presume  that  is  the 
case,  so  it  became  necessary  to  economize  in 
every  way;  but,  why  should  wives  concentrate 
all  their  economy  on  the  waist  of  a  dress? 
When  chest  protectors  are  so  cheap  as  they 
now  are,  I  hate  to  see  people  suffer,  and  there 
is  more  real  suffering,  more  privation  and 
more  destitution,  pervading  the  Washington 
scapula  and  clavicle  this  winter  than  I  ever 
saw  before. 

But  I  do  not  hope  to  change  this  custom, 
though  I  spoke  to  several  ladies  about  it,  and 

339 


HILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

asked  them  to  think  it  over.  I  do  not  think 
they  will.  It  seems  almost  wicked  to  cut  off 
the  best  part  of  a  dress  and  put  it  at  the  other 
end  of  the  skirt,  to  be  trodden  under  feet  of 
men,  as  I  may  say.  They  smiled  good  hu- 
moredly  at  me  as  I  tried  to  impress  my  views 
upon  them,  but  should  I  go  there  again  next 
season  and  mingle  in  the  mad  whirl  of  Wash- 
ington, where  these  fair  women  are  also  min- 
gling in  said  mad  whirl  I  presume  that  I  will 
find  them  clothed  in  the  same  gaslight  waist, 
with  trimmings  of  real  vertebrae  down  the 
back. 

Still,  what  does  a  man  know  about  the 
proper  costume  of  a  woman?  He  knows  noth- 
ing whatever.  He  is  in  many  ways  a  little  in- 
consistent. Why  does  a  man  frown  on  a  cer- 
tain costume  for  his  wife,  and  admire  it  on 
the  first  woman  he  meets?  Why  does  he  fight 
shy  of  religion  and  Christianity  and  talk  very 
freely  about  the  church,  but  get  mad  if  his 
wife  is  an  infidel? 

Crops  around  Washington  are  looking  well. 
Winter  wheat,  crocuses  and  indefinite  post- 
ponements were  never  in  a  more  thrifty  con- 
dition. Quite  a  number  of  people  are  here  who 
are  waiting  to  be  confirmed.     Judging  from 

340 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

their  habits,  they  are  lingering  around  here 
in  order  to  become  confirmed  drunkards. 

I  leave  here  to-morrow  with  a  large,  wet 
towel  in  my  plug  hat.  Perhaps  I  should  have 
said  nothing  on  this  dress  reform  question 
while  my  hat  is  fitting  me  so  immediately.  It 
is  seldom  that  I  step  aside  from  the  beaten 
path  of  rectitude,  but  last  evening,  on  the  way 
home,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  didn't  do  much 
else  but  step  aside.  At  these  parties  no  charge 
is  made  for  punch.  It  is  perfectly  free.  I 
asked  a  colored  man  who  was  standing  near 
the  punch  bowl,  and  who  replenished  it  ever 
and  anon,  what  the  damage  was,  and  he  drew 
himself  up  to  his  full  height. 

Possibly  I  did  wrong,  but  I  hate  to  be  a  bur- 
den on  anyone.  It  seemed  hard  to  me  to  go 
to  a  first-class  dance  and  find  the  supper  and 
the  band  and  the  rum  all  paid  for.  It  must 
cost  a  good  deal  of  money  to  run  this  govern- 
ment. 


m 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


MY  EXPERIENCE  AS  AN  AGRICULT- 
URIST. 

During  the  past  season  I  was  considerably 
interested  in  agriculture.  I  met  with  some 
success,  but  not  enough  to  madden  me  with 
joy.  It  takes  a  good  deal  of  success  to  un- 
screw my  reason  and  make  it  totter  on  its 
throne.  I've  had  trouble  with  my  liver,  and 
various  other  abnormal  conditions  of  the  vital 
organs,  but  old  reason  sits  there  on  his  or  her 
throne,  as  the  case  may  be,  through  it  all. 

Agriculture  has  a  charm  about  it  which  I 
can  not  adequately  describe.  Every  product 
of  the  farm  is  furnished  by  nature  with  some- 
thing that  loves  it,  so  that  it  will  never  be  neg- 
lected. The  grain  crop  is  loved  by  the  weevil, 
the  Hessian  fly,  and  the  xhinch  bug;  the 
watermelon,  the  squash,  and  the  cucumber  are 
loved  by  the  squash  bug;  the  potato  is  loved 
by  the  potato  bug;  the  sweet  corn  is  loved  by 
the  ant,  thou  sluggard;  the  tomato  is  loved  by 
the  cut  worm ;  the  plum  is  loved  by  the  curcu- 
lio,  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth,  so  that  no  plant 
that  grows  need  be  a  wall-flower.  [Early 
blooming  and  extremely  dwarf  jdke  for  the 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

table.  Plant  as  soon  as  there  is  no  danger  of 
frosts,  in  drills  four  inches  apart.  When  ripe, 
pull  it,  and  eat  raw  with  vinegar.  The  red 
ants  may  be  added  to  taste.] 

Well,  I  began  early  to  spade  up  my  angle- 
worms and  other  pets,  to  see  if  they  had  with- 
stood the  severe  winter.  I  found  they  had. 
They  were  unusually  bright  and  cheerful.  The 
potato  bugs  were  a  little  sluggish  at  first,  but 
as  the  spring  opened  and  the  ground  warmed 
up  they  pitched  right  in,  and  did  first-rate. 
Every  one  of  my  bugs  in  May  looked  splen- 
didly. I  was  most  worried  about  my  cut- 
worms. Away  along  in  April  I  had  not  seen 
a  cut-worm,  and  I  began  to  fear  they  had  suf- 
fered, and  perhaps  perished,  in  the  extreme 
cold  of  the  previous  winter. 

One  morning  late  in  the  month,  however,  I 
saw  a  cut-worm  come  out  from  behind  a  cab- 
bage stump  and  take  off  his  ear  mufif.  He  was 
a  little  stiff  in  the  joints,  but  he  had  not  lost 
hope.  I  saw  at  once  now  was  the  time  to  as- 
sist him  if  I  had  a  spark  of  humanity  left.  I 
searched  every  work  I  could  find  on  agricult- 
ure to  find  out  what  it  was  that  farmers  fed 
their  blamed  cut-worms,  but  all  scientists 
seemed  to  be  silent.     I  read  the  agricultural 

o4o 


They  8peke  Jeerlngly. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

reports,  the  dictionary,  and  the  encyclopedia, 
but  they  didn't  throw  any  Hght  on  the  subject. 
I  got  wild.  I  feared  that  I  had  brought  but 
one  cut-worm  through  the  winter,  and  I  was 
liable  to  lose  him  unless  I  could  find  out  what 
to  feed  him.  I  asked  some  of  my  neighbors, 
but  they  spoke  jeeringly  and  sarcastically.  I 
know  now  how  it  was.  All  their  cut-worms 
had  frozen  down  last  winter,  and  they  couldn't 
bear  to  see  me  get  ahead. 

All  at  once,  an  idea  struck  me.  I  haven't 
recovered  from  the  concussion  yet.  It  was 
this:  the  worm  had  wintered  under  a  cabbage 
stalk;  no  doubt  he  was  fond  of  the  beverage. 
I  acted  upon  this  thought  and  bought  him  two 
dozen  red  cabbage  plants,  at  fifty  cents  a 
dozen.  I  had  hit  it  the  first  pop.  He  was 
passionately  fond  of  these  plants,  and  would 
eat  three  in  one  night.  He  also  had  several 
matinees  and  sauerkraut  lawn  festivals  for  his 
friends,  and  in  a  week  I  bought  three  dozen 
more  cabbage  plants.  By  this  time  I  had  col- 
lected a  large  group  of  common  scrub  cut- 
worms, early  Swedish  cut'worms,  dwarf  Hub- 
bard cut-worms,  and  short-horn  cut-worms, 
all  doing  well,  but  still,  I  thought,  a  little  hide- 
bound and  bilious.     They  acted  languid  and 

545 


BTCL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

listless.  As  my  squash  bugs,  currant  worms, 
potato  bugs,  etc.,  were  all  doing  well  without 
care,  I  devoted  myself  almost  exclusively  to 
my  cut-worms.  They  were  all  strong  and 
well,  but  they  seemed  melancholy  with  noth- 
ing to  eat,  day  after  day,  but  cabbages. 

I  therefore  bought  five  dozen  tomato  plants 
that  were  tender  and  large.  These  I  fed  to 
the  cut-worms  at  the  rate  of  eight  or  ten  in 
one  night.  In  a  week  the  cut-worms  had 
thrown  off  that  air  of  ennui  and  languor  that 
I  had  formerly  noticed,  and  were  gay  and 
light-hearted.  I  got  them  some  more  tomato 
plants,  and  then  some  more  cabbage  for 
change.  On  the  whole  I  was  as  proud  as  any 
young  farmer  who  has  made  a  success  of  any- 
thing. 

One  morning  I  noticed  that  a  cabbage  plant 
was  left  standing  unchanged.  The  next  day 
it  was  still  there.  I  was  thunderstruck.  I 
dug  into  the  ground.  My  cut-worms  were 
gone.  I  spaded  up  the  whole  patch,  but  there 
wasn't  one.  Just  as  I  had  become  attached  to 
them,  and  they  had  learned  to  look  forward 
each  day  to  my  coming,  when  they  would  al- 
most come  up  and  eat  a  tomato-plant  out  of  my 
hand,  some  one  had  robbed  rhe  of  them.     I 

346 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

was  almost  wild  with  despair  and  grief.  Sud- 
denly something  tumbled  over  my  foot.  It 
was  mostly  stomach,  but  it  had  feet  on  each 
corner.  A  neighbor  said  it  was  a  wart}^  toad. 
He  had  eaten  up  my  summer's  work !  He  had 
swallowed  my  cunning  little  cut-worms.  I 
tell  you,  gentle  reader,  unless  some  way  is 
provided,  whereby  this  warty  toad  scourge 
can  be  wiped  out,  I  for  one  shall  relinquish 
the  joys  of  agricultural  pursuits.  When  a  com- 
mon toad,  with  a  sallow  complexion  and  no 
intellect,  can  swallow  up  my  summer's  work, 
it  is  time  to  pause. 


347 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


A  NEW  AUTOGRAPH  ALBUM. 

This  autograph  business  is  getting  to  be  a 
little  bit  tedious.  It  is  all  one-sided.  I  want 
to  get  even  some  how,  on  some  one.  If  I  can't 
come  back  at  the  autograph  fiend  himself,  per- 
haps I  might  make  some  other  fellow  creature 
unhappy.  That  would  take  my  mind  off  the 
woes  that  are  inflicted  by  the  man  who  is  mak- 
ing a  collection  of  the  autographs  of  "promi- 
nent men,"  and  who  sends  a  printed  circular 
formally  demanding  your  autograph,  as  the 
tax  collector  would  demand  your  tax. 

John  Comstock,  the  President  of  the  First 
National  Bank,  of  Hudson,  the  other  day  sug- 
gested an  idea.  I  gave  him  an  autograph  copy 
of  my  last  great  work,  and  he  said:  "Now, 
I'm  a  man  of  business.  You  gave  me  your 
autograph,  I  give  you  mine  in  return.  That's 
what  we  call  business."  He  then  signed  a 
brand  new  $5  national  bank  note,  the  cashier 
did  ditto,  and  the  two  autographs  were  turned 
over  to  me. 

Now,  how  would  it  do  to  make  a  collection 
of  the  signatures  of  the  presidents  and  cash- 
iers of  national  banks  of  the  United  States  in 

34^ 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

the  above  manner?  An  album  containing  the 
autographs  of  these  bank  officials  would  not 
only  be  a  handsome  heirloom  to  fork  over  to 
posterity,  but  it  would  possess  intrinsic  value. 
In  pursuance  of  this  idea,  I  have  been  consid- 
ering the  advisability  of  issuing  the  following- 
letter: 

To  the  Presidents  and  Cashiers  of  the  Na- 
tional Banks  of  the  United  States. 
Gentlemen — I  am  now  engaged  in  making 
a  collection  of  the  autographs  of  the  presi- 
dents and  cashiers  of  national  banks  through- 
out the  Union,  and  to  make  the  collection  uni- 
form, I  have  decided  to  ask  for  autographs 
written  at  the  foot  of  the  national  currency 
bank  note  of  the  denomination  of  $5.  I  am 
not  sectarian  in  my  religious  views,  and  I  only 
suggest  this  denomination  for  the  sake  of  uni- 
formity throughout  the  album. 

Card  collections,  cat  albums  and  so  forth, 
may  please  others,  but  I  prefer  to  make  a  col- 
lection that  shall  show  future  ages  who  it  was 
that  built  up  our  finances,  and  furnished  the 
sinews  of  war.  Some  may  look  upon  this 
move  as  a  mercenary  one,  but  with  me  it  is  a 
passion.  It  is  not  simply  a  freak,  it  is  a  desire 
of  my  heart. 

349 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

In  return  I  would  be  glad  to  give  my  own 
autograph,  either  by  itself  or  attached  to  some 
little  gem  of  thought  which  might  occur  to 
my  mind  at  the  time. 

I  have  always  taken  a  great  interest  in  the 
currency  of  the  country.  So  far  as  possible 
I  have  made  it  a  study.  I  have  watched  its 
growth,  and  noted  with  some  regret  its  natu- 
ral reserve.  I  may  say  that,  considering  mea- 
gre opportunities  and  isolated  advantages  af- 
forded me,  no  one  is  more  familiar  with  the 
habits  of  our  national  currency  than  I  am. 
Yet,  at  times  my  laboratory  has  not  been  so 
abundantly  supplied  with  specimens  as  I  could 
have  wished.  This  has  been  my  chief  draw- 
back. 

I  began  a  collection  of  railroad  passes  some 
time  ago,  intending  to  file  them  away  and  pass 
the  collection  down  through  the  dim  vista  of 
coming  years,  but  in  a  rash  moment  I  took  a 
trip  of  several  thousand  miles,  and  those 
passes  were  taken  up. 

I  desire,  in  conclusion,  gentlemen,  to  call 
your  attention  to  the  fact  that  I  have  always 
been  your  friend  and  champion.  I  have 
never  robbed  the  bank  of  a  personal  friend, 
and  if  I  held  your  autographs  I  should  deem 

350 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

you  my  personal  friends,  and  feel  in  honor 
bound  to  discourage  any  movement  looking 
toward  an  unjust  appropriation  of  the  funds 
of  your  bank.  The  autographs  of  yourselves 
in  my  possession,  and  my  own  in  your  hands, 
would  be  regarded  as  a  tacit  agreement  on 
my  part  never  to  rob  your  bank.  I  would  even 
be  willing  to  enter  into  a  contract  with  you 
not  to  break  into  your  vaults,  if  you  insist 
upon  it.  I  would  thus  be  compelled  to  confine 
myself  to  the  stage  coaches  and  railroad  trains 
in  a  great  measure,  but  I  am  getting  now  so 
I  like  to  spend  my  evenings  at  home,  anyhow, 
and  if  I  do  well  this  year,  I  shall  sell  my  bur- 
glars' tools  and  give  myself  up  to  the  authori- 
ties. 

You  will  understand,  gentlemen,  the  deli- 
cate nature  of  this  request,  I  trust,  and  not 
misconstrue  my  motives.  My  intentions  are 
perfectly  honorable,  and  my  idea  in  doing  this 
is,  I  may  say,  to  supply  a  long  felt  want. 

Hoping  that  what  I  have  said  will  meet  with 
your  approval  and  hearty  co-operation,  and 
that  our  very  friendly  business  relations,  as 
they  have  existed  in  the  past,  may  contmue 
through  the  years  to  come,  and  that  your  bank' 

351 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

may  wallow   in   success   till   the   cows    come 
home,  or  words  to  that  effect,  I  beg  leave  to 
subscribe  myself,  yours  in  favor  of  one  coun 
try,  one  flag  and  one  bank  account. 


352 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


A  RESIGN. 

Postoffice  Divan,  Laramie  City,  W.  T., 

Oct.  I,  1883. 
To  the  President  of  the  United  States: 

Sir — I  beg  leave  at  this  time  to  officially 
tender  my  resignation  as  postmaster  at  this 
place,  and  in  due  form  to  deliver  the  great  seal 
and  the  key  to  the  front  door  of  the  office.  The 
safe  combination  is  set  on  the  numbers  33,  66 
and  99,  though  I  do  not  remember  at  this  mo- 
ment which  comes  first,  or  how  many  times 
you  revolve  the  knob,  or  which  direction  you 
should  turn  it  at  first  in  order  to  make  it  op- 
erate. 

There  is  some  mining  stock  in  my  private 
drawer  in  the  safe,  which  I  have  not  yet  re- 
moved. This  stock  you  may  have,  if  you  desire 
it.  It  is  a  luxury,  but  you  may  have  it.  I  have 
decided  to  keep  a  horse  instead  of  this  mining 
stock.  The  horse  may  not  be  so  pretty,  but  it 
will  cost  less  to  keep  him. 

You  will  find  the  postal  cards  that  have  not 
been  used  under  the  distributing  table,  and 
the  coal  down  in  the  cellar.    If  the  stove  draws 

353 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

too  hard,  close  the  damper  in  the  pipe  and  shut 
the  general  delivery  window. 

Looking  over  my  stormy  and  eventful  ad- 
ministration as  postmaster  here,  I  find  abun- 
dant cause  for  thanksgiving.  At  the  time  I 
entered  upon  the  duties  of  my  office  the  de- 
partment was  not  yet  on  a  paying  basis.  It 
was  not  even  self-sustaining.  Since  that  time, 
with  the  active  co-operation  of  the  chief  exec- 
utive and  the  heads  of  the  department,  I  have 
been  able  to  make  our  postal  system  a  paying 
one,  and  on  top  of  that  I  am  now  able  to  re- 
duce the  tariff  on  average-sized  letters  from 
three  cents  to  two.  I  might  add  that  this  is 
rather  too  too,  but  I  will  not  say  anything  that 
might  seem  undignified  in  an  official  resigna- 
tion which  is  to  become  a  matter  of  history. 

Through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  a  tempestu- 
ous term  of  office  I  have  safely  passed.  I  am 
able  to  turn  over  the  office  to-day  in  a  highly 
improved  condition,  and  to  present  a  purified 
and  renovated  institution  to  my  successor. 

Acting  under  the  advice  of  Gen.  Hatton,  a 
year  ago,  I  removed  the  feather  bed  with 
which  my  predecessor,  Deacon  Hayford,  had 
bolstered  up  his  administration  by  stuffing  the 
window,  and  substituted  glass.    Finding  noth- 

354 


strict  Attention  to  Business. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ing  in  the  book  of  instructions  to  postmasters 
which  made  the  feather  bed  a  part  of  my  of- 
ficial duties,  I  filed  it  away  in  an  obscure  place 
and  burned  it  in  effigy,  also  in  the  gloaming. 
This  act  maddened  my  predecessor  to  such  a 
degree,  that  he  then  and  there  became  a  can- 
didate for  justice  of  the  peace  on  the  Demo- 
cratic ticket.  The  Democratic  party  was  able, 
however,  with  what  aid  it  secured  from  the 
Republicans,  to  plow  the  old  man  under  to  a 
great  degree. 

It  was  not  long  after  I  had  taken  my  official 
oath  before  an  era  of  unexampled  prosperity 
opened  for  the  American  people.  The  price 
of  beef  rose  to  a  remarkable  altitude,  and  other 
vegetables  commanded  a  good  figure  and  a 
ready  market.  We  then  began  to  make  active 
preparations  for  the  introduction  of  the  straw- 
berry-roan two-cent  stamps  and  the  black-and- 
tan  postal  note.  One  reform  has  crowded  up- 
on the  heels  of  another,  until  the  country  is 
to-day  upon  the  foam-crested  wave  of  perma- 
nent prosperity. 

Mr.  President,  I  cannot  close  this  letter 
without  thanking  yourself  and  the  heads  of 
departments  at  Washington  for  your  active, 
cheery  and  prompt  co-operation  in  these  mat- 

356 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ters.  You  can  do  as  you  see  fit,  of  course, 
about  incorporating  this  idea  into  your 
Thanksgiving  proclamation,  but  rest  assured 
it  would  not  be  ill-timed  or  inopportune.  It 
is  not  alone  a  credit  to  myself.  It  reflects 
credit  upon  the  administration  also. 

I  need  not  say  that  I  herewith  transmit  my 
resignation  with  great  sorrow  and  genuine  re- 
gret. We  have  toiled  on  together  month  after 
month,  asking  for  no  reward  except  the  innate 
consciousness  of  rectitude  and  the  salary  as 
fixed  by  law.  Now  we  are  to  separate.  Here 
the  roads  seem  to  fork,  as  it  were,  and  you  and 
I,  and  the  cabinet,  must  leave  each  other  at 
this  point. 

You  will  find  the  key  under  the  door-mat, 
and  you  had  better  turn  the  cat  out  at  night 
when  you  close  the  office.  If  she  does  not  go 
readily,  you  can  make  it  clearer  to  her  mind 
by  throwing  the  cancelling  stamp  at  her. 

If  Deacon  Hayford  does  not  pay  up  his  box- 
rent,  you  might  as  well  put  his  mail  in  the  gen- 
eral delivery,  and  when  Bob  Head  gets  drunk 
and  insists  on  a  letter  from  one  of  his  wives 
every  day  in  the  week,  you  can  salute  him 
through  the  box  delivery  with  an  old  Queen 
Anne  tomahawk,  which  you  will  find  near  the 

357 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Etruscan  water  pail.     This  will  not   in  any 
manner  surprise  either  of  these  parties. 

Tears  are  unavailing.  I  once  more  become 
a  private  citizen,  clothed  only  with  the  right 
to  read  such  postal  cards  as  may  be  addressed 
to  me  personally,  and  to  curse  the  inefficiency 
of  the  postoffice  department.  I  believe  the 
voting  class  to  be  divided  into  two  parties, 
viz. :  Those  who  are  in  the  postal  service  and 
those  who  are  mad  because  they  cannot  re- 
ceive a  registered  letter  every  fifteen  minutes 
of  each  day,  including  Sunday. 

Mr.  President,  as  an  of^cial  of  this  Govern- 
ment I  now  retire.  My  term  of  office  would 
not  expire  until  1886.  I  must,  therefore,  beg 
pardon  for  my  eccentricity  in  resigning.  It 
will  be  best,  perhaps,  to  keep  the  heart-break- 
ing news  from  the  ears  of  European  powers 
until  the  dangers  of  a  financial  panic  are  fully 
past.  Then  hurl  it  broadcast  with  a  sickening 
thud. 


358 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


MY  MINE. 

I  have  decided  to  sacrifice  another  valuable 
piece  of  mining  property  this  spring.  It  would 
not  be  sold  if  I  had  the  necessary  capital  to  de- 
velop it.  Tt  is  a  good  mine,  for  I  located  it  my- 
self. I  remember  well  the  day  I  climbed  up 
on  the  ridge-pole  of  the  universe  and  nailed 
my  location  notice  to  the  eaves  of  the  sky. 

It  was  in  August  that  I  discovered  the  Van- 
derbilt  claim  in  a  snow-storm.  It  cropped  out 
apparently  a  little  southeast  of  a  point  where 
the  arc  of  the  orbit  of  Venus  bisects  the  milky 
way,  and  ran  due  east  eighty  chains,  three 
links  and  a  swivel,  thence  south  fifteen  paces 
and  a  half  to  a  blue  spot  in  the  sky,  thence  pro- 
ceeding west  eighty  chains,  three  links  of  sau- 
sage and  a  half  to  a  fixed  star,  thence  north 
across  the  lead  to  place  of  beginning. 

The  Vanderbilt  set  out  to  be  a  carbonate 
deposit,  but  changed  its  mind.  I  sent  a  piece 
of  the  cropping  to  a  man  over  in  Salt  Lake, 
v.ho  is  a  good  assayer  and  quite  a  scientist,  if 
he  would  brace  up  and  avoid  humor.  His  as- 
say read  as  follows,  towit: 

359 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

Salt  Lake  City,  U.  T.,  August  25,  1877. 

Mr.  Bill  Nye — Your  specimen  of  ore  No. 
35,832,  current  series,  has  been  submitted  to 
assay  and  shows  the  following  result : 

Metal.  Ounces.    Value  per  ton. 

Gold    

Silver   

Railroad  iron  i 

Pyrites  of  poverty  9 

Parasites  of  disappointment 90 

McViCKER,  Assayer. 

Note. — I  also  find  that  the  formation  is  ig- 
neous, prehistoric  and  erroneous.  If  I  were 
you  I  would  sink  a  prospect  shaft  below  the 
vertical  slide  where  the  old  red  brimstone  and 
preadamite  slag  cross-cut  the  malachite  and 
intersect  the  schist.  I  think  that  would  be 
schist  about  as  good  as  anything  you  could 
do.  Then  send  me  specimens  with  $2  for  as- 
say and  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see. 

Well,  I  didn't  know  he  was  "an  humorist," 
you  see,  so  I  went  to  work  on  the  Vanderbilt 
to  try  and  do  what  Mac.  said.  I  sank  a  shaft 
and  everything  else  I  could  get  hold  of  on  that 
claim.  It  was  so  high  that  we  had  to  carry 
water  up  there  to  drink  when  we  began  and 
before  fall  we  had  struck  a  vein  of  the  richest 
water  you  ever  saw.  We  had  more  water  in 
that  mine  than  the  regular  army  could  use, 

360 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

When  we  got  down  sixty  feet  I  sent  some 
pieces  of  the  pay  streak  to  the  assayer  again. 
This  time  he  wrote  me  quite  a  letter,  and  at 
the  same  time  inclosed  the  certificate  of  assay. 

Salt  Lake  City,  U.  T.,  October  3,  1877. 
Mr.   Bill   Nye — Your  specimen  of  ore   No. 
36,132,  current  series,  has  been  submitted  to 
assay  and  shows  the  following  result: 

Metal.  Ounces.    Value  per  ton. 

Gold    

Silver   

Stove   polish    trace  .01 

Old  grey  whetstone  trace  .01 

Bromide  of  axle  grease   stain 

Copperas    trace      5c  worth 

Blue  vitriol trace      5c  worth 

McViCKER,  Assayer. 

In  the  letter  he  said  there  was,  no  doubt, 
something  in  the  claim  if  I  could  get  the  true 
contact  with  calcimine  walls  denoting  a  true 
fissure.  He  thought  I  ought  to  run  a  drift. 
I  told  him  I  had  already  run  adrift. 

Then  he  said  to  stope  out  my  stove  polish 
ore  and  sell  it  for  enough  to  go  on  with  the 
development.  I  tried  that,  but  capital  seemed 
coy.  Others  had  been  there  before  me  and 
capital  bade  me  soak  my  head  and  said  other 
things  which  grated  harshly  on  my  sensitive 
nature. 

361 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

The  Vanderbilt  mine,  with  all  its  dips, 
spurs,  angles,  variations,  veins,  sinuosities, 
rights,  titles,  franchises,  prerogatives  and  as- 
sessments is  now  for  sale.  I  sell  it  in  order  to 
raise  the  necessary  funds  for  the  development 
of  the  Governor  of  North  Carolina.  I  had  so 
much  trouble  with  water  in  the  Vanderbilt, 
that  I  named  the  new  claim  the  Governor  of 
North  Carolina,  because  he  was  always  dry. 


362 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


MUSH  AND  MELODY. 

Lately  I  have  been  giving  a  good  deal  of  at- 
tention to  hygiene — in  other  people.  The 
gentle  reader  will  notice  that,  as  a  rule,  the 
man  who  gives  the  most  time  and  thought  to 
this  subject  is  an  invalid  himself;  just  as  the 
young  theological  student  devotes  his  first  ser- 
mon to  the  care  of  children,  and  the  ward  poli- 
tician talks  the  smoothest  on  the  subject  of 
how  and  wdien  to  plant  rutabagas  or  wean  a 
calf  from  the  parent  stem. 

Having  been  thrown  into  the  society  of  phy- 
sicians a  great  deal  the  past  two  years,  mostly 
in  the  role  of  patient,  I  have  given  some  study 
to  the  human  form;  its  structure  and  idiosyn- 
crasies, as  it  were.  Perhaps  few  men  in  the 
same  length  of  time  have  successfully  acquired 
a  larger  or  more  select  repertoire  of  choice  dis- 
eases than  I  have.  I  do  not  say  this  boast- 
fully. I  simply  desire  to  call  the  attention  of 
our  growing  youth  to  the  glorious  possibilities 
that  await  the  ambitious  and  enterprising  in 
this  line. 

Starting  out  as  a  poor  boy,  with  few  advan- 
tages in  the  way  of  disease,  I  have  resolutely 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

carved  my  way  up  to  the  dizzy  heights  of  fame 
as  a  chronic  invaHd  and  drug-soaked  relic  of 
other  days.  I  inherited  no  disease  whatever. 
My  ancestors  were  poor  and  healthy.  They 
bequeathed  me  no  snug  little  nucleus  of  fash- 
ionable malaria  such  as  other  boys  had.  I  was 
obliged  to  acquire  it  myself.  Yet  I  was  not 
discouraged.  The  results  have  shown  that 
disease  is  not  alone  the  heritage  of  the  wealthy 
and  the  great.  The  poorest  of  us  may  become 
eminent  invalids  if  we  will  only  go  at  it  in  the 
right  way.  But  I  started  out  to  say  something 
on  the  subject  of  health,  for  there  are  still 
many  common  people  who  would  rather  be 
healthy  and  unknown  than  obtain  distinction 
with  some  dazzling  new  disease. 

Noticing  many  years  ago  that  imperfect 
mastication  and  dyspepsia  walked  hand  in 
hand,  so  to  speak,  Mr.  Gladstone  adopted  in 
his  family  a  regular  mastication  scale;  for  in- 
stance, thirty-two  bites  for  steak,  twenty-two 
for  fish,  and  so  forth.  Now  I  take  this  idea 
and  improve  upon  it.  Two  statesmen  can  al- 
ways act  better  in  concert  if  they  will  do  so. 

With  Mr.  Gladstone's  knowledge  of  the 
laws  of  health  and  my  own  musical  genius,  I 
have  hit  on  a  way  to  make  eating  not  only  a 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

duty,  but  a  pleasure.  Eating  is  too  frequently 
irksome.  There  is  nothing  about  it  to  make  it 
attractive. 

What  we  need  is  a  union  of  mush  and  mel- 
ody, if  I  may  be  allowed  that  expression.  Mr. 
Gladstone  has  given  us  the  graduated  scale, 
so  that  we  know  just  what  metre  a  bill  of  fare 
goes  in  as  quick  as  we  look  at  it.  In  this  way 
the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  music  and  mas- 
tication will  march  down  through  the  dim 
vista  of  years  together. 

The  Baked  Bean  Chant,  the  Vermicelli 
Waltz,  the  Mush  and  Milk  March,  the  sad  and 
touchful  Pumpkin  Pie  Refrain,  the  gay  and 
rollicking  Oxtail  Soup  Gallop,  and  the  melt- 
ing Ice  Cream  Serenade  will  yet  be  common 
musical  names. 

Taking  different  classes  of  food,  I  have  set 
them  to  music  in  such  a  way  that  the  meal, 
for  instance,  may  open  with  a  Soup  Overture, 
to  be  followed  by  a  Roast  Beef  March  in  C, 
and  so  on,  closing  with  a  kind  of  Mince  Pie 
La  Somnambula  pianissimo  in  G.  Space,  of 
course,  forbids  an  extended  description  of  this 
idea  as  I  propose  to  carry  it  out,  but  the  con- 
ception is  certainly  grand.  Let  us  picture  the 
jaws  of  a  whole  family  moving  in  exact  time 

365 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

to  a  Strauss  waltz  on  the  silent  remains  of  the 
late  lamented  hen,  and  we  see  at  once  how 
much  real  pleasure  may  be  added  to  the  proc- 
ess of  mastication. 


366 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  BLASE  YOUNG  MAN. 

I  have  just  formed  the  acquaintance  of  a 
blase  young  man.  I  have  been  on  an  extended 
trip  with  him.  He  is  about  twenty-two  years 
old,  but  he  is  already  weary  of  life.  He  was 
very  careful  all  the  time  never  to  be  exuber- 
ant. No  matter  how  beautiful  the  landscape, 
he  never  allowed  himself  to  exube. 

Several  times  I  succeeded  in  startling  him 
enough  to  say  "Ah!"  but  that  was  all.  He 
had  the  air  all  the  time  of  a  man  who  had 
been  reared  in  luxury  and  fondled  so  much  in 
the  lap  of  wealth  that  he  was  weary  of  life, 
and  yearned  for  a  bright  immortality.  I  have 
often  wished  that  the  pruning-hook  of  time 
would  use  a  little  more  discretion.  The  blase 
young  man  seemed  to  be  tired  all  the  time. 
He  was  weary  of  life  because  life  was  hollow. 

He  seemed  to  hanker  for  the  cool  and  quiet 
grave.  I  wished  at  times  that  the  hankering- 
might  have  been  more  mutual.  But  what  does 
a  cool,  quiet  grave  want  of  a  yoimg  man  who 
never  did  anything  but  breathe  the  nice  pure 

367 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

air  into  his  froggy  lungs  and  spoil  it  for  every- 
body else? 

This  young  man  had  a  large  grip-sack  with 
him  which  he  frequently  consulted.  I  glanced 
into  it  once  while  he  left  it  open.  It  was  not 
right,  but  I  did  it.  I  saw  the  following  arti- 
cles in  it: 

31  Assorted  Neckties. 

I   pair  Socks  (whole). 

I   pair  do.  (not  so  whole). 
17  Collars. 

I   Shirt. 

I  Quart  Cuflf-Buttons. 

I   suit  discouraged  Gauze  Underwear. 

I  box  Speckled  Handkerchiefs. 

I   box  Condition  Powders. 
I   Toothbrush  (prematurely  bald). 

I  copy  Martin  F.  Tupper's  Works. 

I  box  Prepared  Chalk. 

I   Pair   Tweezers   for   encouraging   Mous- 
tache to  come  out  to  breakfast. 

I  Powder  Rag. 

I   Gob  ccru-colored  Taffy. 

I   Hair-brush,  with  Ginger  Hair  in  it. 

I  Pencil  to  pencil  Moustache  at  night. 

I  Bread  and  Milk  Poultice  to  put  on  Mous- 
368 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

tache  on  retiring,  so  that  it  will  not  forget  to 
come  out  again  the  next  day. 

I   Box  Trix  for  the  breath. 

I  Box  Chloride  of  Lime  to  use  in  case 
breath  becomes  unmanageable. 

I   Ear-spoon  (large  size). 

I   Plain  Mourning  Head  for  Cane. 

I  Vulcanized  Rubber  Head  for  Cane  (to 
bite  on). 

I  Shoe-horn  to  use  in  working  Ears  into 
Ear-Muffs. 

I   Pair  Corsets. 

I  Dark-brown  Wash  for  Mouth,  to  be  used 
in  the  morning. 

I   Large  Box  Ennui,  to  be  used  in  Society. 

I  Box  Spruce  Gum,  made  in  Chicago  and 
warranted  pure. 

I  Gallon  Assorted  Shirt  Studs. 

I  Polka-dot  Handkerchief  to  pin  in  side 
pocket,  but  not  for  nose. 

I   Plain  Handkerchief  for  nose. 

I   Fanc}^  Head  for  Cane  (morning). 

I   Fancy  Head  for  Cane  (evening). 

I   Picnic  Head  for  Cane. 

I   Bottle  Peppermint. 

I       "        Catnip. 

I  Waterbury  Watch. 

369 


He  Is  Nix  Bonum. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

7  Chains  for  same. 

I   Box  Letter  Paper. 

I  Stick  Sealing  Wax  (baby  blue). 

I     do  "  "     (Bismarck  brindle). 

I     do  "  "     (mashed  gooseberry). 

I   Seal  for  same. 

I   Family   Crest    (wash-tub  rampant   on  a 
field  calico). 

There  were  other  little  articles  of  virtu  and 
bric-a-brac  till  you  couldn't  rest,  but  these 
were  all  that  I  could  see  thoroughly  before  he 
returned  from  the  wash-room. 

I  do  not  like  the  blase  young  man  as  a  trav- 
eling companion.  He  is  nix  bonum.  He  is 
too  E  pluribus  for  me.  He  is  not  de  trop  or 
sciatica  enough  to  suit  my  style. 

If  he  belonged  to  me  I  would  picket  him 
out  somewhere  in  a  hostile  Indian  country, 
and  then  try  to  nerve  myself  up  for  the  result. 
It  is  better  to  go  through  life  reading  the 
signs  on  the  ten-story  buildings  and  acquiring 
knowledge,  than  to  dawdle  and  "Ah!"  adown 
our  pathway  to  the  tomb  and  leave  no  record 
for  posterity  except  that  we  had  a  good  neck 
to  pin  a  necktie  upon.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  be 
called  green,  but  I  would  rather  be  green  and 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

aspiring  than  blase  and  hide-bound  at  nine- 
teen. 

Let  us  so  live  that  when  at  last  we  pass 
away  our  friends  will  not  be  immediately  and 
uproariously  reconciled  to  our  death. 


372 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


HISTORY  OF  BABYLON. 

The  history  of  Babylon  is  fraught  with  sad- 
ness. It  illustrates,  only  too  painfully,  that 
the  people  of  a  town  make  or  mar  its  success 
rather  than  the  natural  resources  and  advan- 
tages it  may  possess  on  the  start. 

Thus  Babylon,  with  3,000  years  the  start  of 
Minneapolis,  is  to-day  a  hole  in  the  ground, 
while  Minneapolis  socks  her  XXXX  flour  into 
every  corner  of  the  globe,  and  the  price  of  real 
estate  would  make  a  common  dynasty  totter 
on  its  throne. 

Babylon  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  decay 
of  a  town  that  does  not  keep  up  with  the  pro- 
cession. Compare  her  to-day  with  Kansas 
City.  While  Babylon  was  the  capital  of  Chal- 
dea,  1,270  years  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  and 
Kansas  City  was  organized  so  many  years 
after  that  event  that  many  of  the  people  there 
have  forgotten  all  about  it,  Kansas  City  has 
doubled  her  population  in  ten  years,  while 
Babylon  is  simply  a  gothic  hole  in  the  ground. 
Why  did  trade  and  emigration  turn  their 
backs  upon  Babylon  and  seek  out  Minneapo- 
lis, St.  Paul,  Kansas  City  and  Omaha?    Was 

373 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

it  because  they  were  blest  with  a  bluer  sky  or 
a  more  genial  sun?  Not  by  any  means.  While 
Babylon  lived  upon  what  she  had  been  and 
neglected  to  advertise,  other  towns  with  no 
history  extending  back  into  the  mouldy  past, 
whooped  with  an  exceeding  great  whoop  and 
tore  up  the  ground  and  shed  printers'  ink  and 
showed  marked  signs  of  vitality.  That  is  the 
reason  that  Babylon  is  no  more. 

This  life  of  ours  is  one  of  intense  activity. 
We  cannot  rest  long  in  idleness  without  invit- 
ing forgetfulness,  death  and  oblivion.  **Baby- 
lon  was  probably  the  largest  and  most  mag- 
nificent city  of  the  ancient  world."  Isaiah, 
who  lived  about  300  years  before  Herodotus, 
and  whose  remarks  are  unusually  free  from 
local  or  political  prejudice,  refers  to  Babylon 
as  **the  glory  of  kingdoms,  the  beauty  of  the 
Chaldic's  excellency,"  and,  yet,  while  Chey- 
enne has  the  electric  light  and  two  daily  pa- 
pers, Babylon  hasn't  got  so  much  as  a  skating 
rink. 

A  city  fourteen  miles  square  with  a  brick 
wall  around  it  355  feet  high,  she  has  quietly 
forgotten  to  advertise,  and  in  turn  she,  also, 
is  forgo'tten. 

Babylon  was  remarkable  for  thfe  twb  b'e^u- 

3/4 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

tiful  palaces,  one  on  each  side  of  the  river, 
and  the  great  temple  of  Relus.  Connected 
with  one  of  these  palaces  was  the  hanging  gar- 
den, regarded  by  the  Greeks  as  one  of  the 
seven  wonders  of  the  world,  but  that  was  prior 
to  the  erection  of  the  Washington  monument 
and  civil  service  reform. 

This  was  a  square  of  400  Greek  feet  on  each 
side.  The  Greek  foot  was  not  so  long  as  the 
modern  foot  introduced  by  Miss  Mills,  of 
Ohio.  This  garden  was  supported  on  several 
tiers  of  open  arches,  built  one  over  the  other, 
like  the  walls  of  a  classic  theatre,  and  sustain- 
ing at  each  stage,  or  story,  a  solid  platform 
from  which  the  arches  of  the  next  story 
sprung.  This  structure  was  also  supported  by 
the  common  council  of  Babylon,  who  came> 
forward  with  the  city  funds,  and  helped  to 
sustain  the  immense  weight. 

It  is  presumed  that  Nebuchadnezzar  erect- 
ed this  garden  before  his  mind  became  affect- 
ed. The  tower  of  Belus,  supposed  by  histo- 
rians with  a  good  memory  to  have  been  600 
feet  high,  as  there  is  still  a  red  chalk  mark  in 
the  sky  where  the  top  came,  was  a  great  thing 
in  its  way.     I  am  glad  I  wus  not  contiguous 

375 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

to  it  when  it  fell,  and  also  that  I  had  omitted 
being  born  prior  to  that  time. 

''When  we  turn  from  this  picture  of  the 
past,"  says  the  historian,  Rawlinson,  referring 
to  the  beauties  of  Babylon,  "to  contemplate 
the  present  condition  of  these  localities,  we 
are  at  first  struck  with  astonishment  at  the 
small  traces  which  remain  of  so  vast  and  won- 
derful a  metropolis.  The  broad  walls  of  Baby- 
lon are  utterly  broken  down.  God  has  swept 
it  with  the  besom  of  destruction." 

One  cannot  help  wondering  why  the  use  of 
the  besom  should  have  been  abandoned.  As 
we  gaze  upon  the  former  site  of  Babylon  we 
are  forced  to  admit  that  the  new  besom 
sweeps  clean.  On  its  old  site  no  crumbling 
arches  or  broken  columns  are  found  to  indi- 
cate her  former  beauty.  Here  and  there  huge 
heaps  of  debris  alone  indicate  that  here  God- 
less wealth  and  wicked,  selfish,  indolent,  en- 
ervating, ephemeral  pomp,  rose  and  defied  the 
supreme  laws  to  which  the  bloated,  selfish  mil- 
lionaire and  the  hard-handed,  hungry  laborer 
alike  must  bow,  and  they  are  dust  to-day. 

Babylon  has  fallen.  I  do  not  say  this  in  a 
sensational  way  or  to  depreciate  the  value  of 
real  estate  there,  but  from  actual  observation, 

376 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

and  after  a  full  investigation,  I  assert  without 
fear  of  successful  contradiction,  that  Babylon 
has  seen  her  best  days.  Her  boomlet  is  bust- 
ed, and,  to  use  a  political  phrase,  her  oriental 
hide  is  on  the  Chaldean  fence. 

Such  is  life.  We  enter  upon  it  reluctantly; 
we  wade  through  it  doubtfully,  and  die  at  last 
timidly.  How  we  Americans  do  blow  about 
what  we  can  do  before  breakfast,  and,  yet, 
even  in  our  own  brief  history,  how  we  have 
demonstrated  what  a  little  thing  the  common 
two-legged  man  is.  He  rises  up  rapidly  to  ac- 
quire much  wealth,  and  if  he  delays  about 
going  to  Canada  he  goes  to  Sing  Sing,  and  we 
forget  about  him.  There  are  lots  of  modern 
Babylonians  in  New  York  City  to-day,  and  if 
it  were  my  business  I  would  call  their  atten- 
tion to  it.  The  assertion  that  gold  will  pro- 
cure all  things  has  been  so  common  and  so 
popular  that  too  many  consider  first  the  bank 
account,  and  after  that  honor,  home,  religion, 
humanity  and  common  decency.  Even  some 
of  the  churches  have  fallen  into  the  notion 
that  first  comes  the  tall  church,  then  the  debt 
and  mortgage,  the  ice  cream  sociable  and  the 
kingdom  of  Heaven.  Cash  and  Christianitv 
go  hand  in  hand  sometimes,  but  Christianity 

3/7 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

ought  not  to  confer  respectability  on  anybody 
who  comes  into  the  church  to  purchase  it. 

I  often  think  of  the  closing  appeal  of  the  old 
preacher,  who  was  more  earnest  than  refined, 
perhaps,  and  in  winding  up  his  brief  sermon 
on  the  Christian  life,  said:  "A  man  may  lose 
all  his  wealth  and  get  poor  and  hungry  and 
still  recover,  he  may  lose  his  health  and  come 
down  clost  to  the  dark  stream  and  still  git 
well  again,  but,  when  he  loses  his  immortal 
soul  it  is  good-bye,  John." 


3^ 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


LOVELY  HORRORS. 

I  dropped  in  the  other  day  to  see  New 
York's  great  congress  of  wax  figures  and  soft 
statuary  carnival.  It  is  quite  a  success.  The 
first  thing  you  do  on  entering  is  to  contribute 
to  the  pedestal  fund.  New  York  this  spring 
is  mostly  a  large  rectangular  box  with  a  hole 
in  the  top,  through  which  the  genial  public  is 
cordially  requested  to  slide  a  dollar  to  give 
the  goddess  of  liberty  a  boom. 

I  was  astonished  and  appalled  at  the  wealth 
of  apertures  in  Gotham  through  which  I  was 
expected  to  slide  a  dime  to  assist  some  deserv^- 
ing  object.  Every  little  while  you  run  into  a 
free-lunch  room  where  there  is  a  model  ship 
that  will  start  up  and  operate  if  you  feed  it 
with  a  nickle.  I  never  visited  a  town  that  of- 
fered so  many  inducements  for  early  and  judi- 
cious investments  as  New  York. 

But  we  were  speaking  of  the  wax  works.  I 
did  not  tarry  long  to  notice  the  presidents  of 
the  United  States  embalmed  in  wax,  or  to 
listen  to  the  band  of  lutists  who  furnished 
music  in  the  winter  garden.  I  ascertained 
where  the   chamb'fer  of  hbrrbrs   was  Ibtated, 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

and  went  there  at  once.  It  is  lovely.  I  have 
never  seen  a  more  successful  aggregation  of 
horrors  under  one  roof  and  at  one  price  of  ad- 
mission. 

If  you  want  to  be  shocked  at  cost,  or  have 
your  pores  opened  for  a  merely  nominal  price, 
and  see  a  show  that  you  will  never  forget  as 
]ong  as  you  live,  that  is  the  place  to  find  it. 
I  never  invested  my  money  so  as  to  get  so 
large  a  return  for  it,  because  I  frequently  see 
the  whole  show  yet  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
and  the  cold  perspiration  ripples  down  my 
spinal  column  just  as  it  did  the  first  time  I 
saw  it. 

The  chamber  of  horrors  certainly  furnishes 
a  very  durable  show.  I  don't  think  I  was  ever 
more  successfully  or  economically  horrified. 

I  got  quite  nervous  after  a  while,  standing 
in  the  dim  religious  light  watching  the  lovely 
horrors.  But  it  is  the  saving  of  money  that  I 
look  at  most.  I  have  known  men  to  pay  out 
thousands  of  dollars  for  a  collection  of  delir- 
ium tremens  and  new-laid  horrors  no  better 
than  these  that  you  get  on  week  days  for  fifty 
cents  and  on  Sundays  for  two  bits.  Certainly 
New  York  is  the  place  where  you  get  your 
money's  worth. 

380 


He  Was  Greatly   Annoyed. 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

There  are  horrors  there  in  that  crypt  that 
are  well  worth  double  the  price  of  admission. 
One  peculiarity  of  the  chamber  of  horrors  is 
that  you  finally  get  nervous  when  anyone 
touches  you,  and  you  immediately  suspect  that 
he  is  a  horror  who  has  come  out  of  his  crypt 
to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air  and  stretch  his  legs. 

That  is  the  reason  I  shuddered  a  little  when 
I  felt  a  man's  hand  in  my  pocket.  It  was  so 
unexpected,  and  the  surroundings  were  such 
that  I  must  have  appeared  startled.  The  man 
was  a  stranger  to  me,  though  I  could  see  that 
he  was  a  perfect  gentleman.  His  clothes  were 
superior  to  mine  in  every  way,  and  he  had  a 
certain  refinement  of  manners  which  betrayed 
his  ill-concealed  knickerbocker  lineage  high. 

I  said,  ''Sir,  you  will  find  my  fine  cut  to- 
bacco in  the  other  pocket."  This  startled  him 
so  that  he  wheeled  about  and  wildly  dashed 
into  the  arms  of  a  wax  policeman  near  the 
door.  When  he  discovered  that  he  was  in  the 
clutches  of  a  suit  of  second-hand  clothes  filled 
with  wax,  he  seemed  to  be  greatly  annoyed 
and  strode  rapidly  away. 

I  turned  to  view  the  chaste  and  truthful 
scene  where  one  man  had  successfully  killed 
another  with  a  club.  I  leaned  pensively  against 

382 


"This  It  Jctte  Jam«a>" 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

a  column  with  my  own  spinal  column, 
wrapped  in  thought. 

Pretty  soon  a  young  gentleman  from  New 
Jersey  with  an  Adam's  apple  on  him  like  a 
full-grown  yam,  and  accompanied  by  a  young 
ladv  also  from  the  mosquito  jungles  of  Jersey, 
touched  me  on  the  bosom  with  his  umbrella 
and  began  to  explain  me  to  his  companion. 

"This,"  said  the  Adam's  apple  with  the 
young  man  attached  to  it,  "is  Jesse  James,  the 
great  outlaw  chief  from  Missouri.  How  life- 
like he  is.  Little  would  you  think,  Emeline, 
that  he  would  as  soon  disembowel  a  bank,  kill 
the  entire  board  of  directors  of  a  railroad  com- 
pany and  ride  off  the  rolling  stock,  as  you 
would  wrap  yourself  around  a  doughnut. 
How  tender  and  kind  he  looks.  He  not  only 
looks  gentle  and  peaceful,  but  he  looks  to  me 
as  if  he  wasn't  real  bright." 

I  then  uttered  a  piercing  shriek  and  the 
young  man  from  New  Jersey  went  away. 
Nothing  is  so  embarrassing  to  an  eminent  man 
as  to  stand  quietly  near  and  hear  people  dis- 
cuss him. 

But  it  is  remarkable  to  see  people  get  fooled 
at  a  wax  show.  Every  day  a  wax  figure  is 
taken  for  a  live  man,  and  live  people  are  mis- 

384 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

taken  for  wax.  I  took  hold  of  a  waxen  hand 
in  one  corner  of  the  winter  garden  to  see  if  the 
ring  was  a  real  diamond,  and  it  flew  up  and 
took  me  across  the  ear  in  such  a  life-like  man- 
ner that  my  ear  is  still  hot  and  there  is  a  roar- 
ing in  my  head  that  sounds  very  disagreeable, 
indeed. 


385 


BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 


THE  BITE  OF  A  MAD  DOG. 

A  "Family  Physician,"  published  in  1883, 
says,  for  the  bite  of  a  mad  dog:  "Take  ash- 
colored  ground  liverwort,  cleaned,  dried,  and 
powdered,  half  an  ounce;  of  black  pepper,  pow- 
dered, a  quarter  of  an  ounce.  Mix  these  well 
together,  and  divide  the  powder  into  four 
doses,  one  of  which  must  be  taken  every  morn- 
ing, fasting,  for  four  mornings  successively  in 
half  an  English  pint  of  cow's  milk,  warm. 
After  these  four  doses  are  taken,  the  patient 
must  go  into  the  cold  bath,  or  a  cold  spring  or 
river,  every  morning,  fasting,  for  a  month. 
He  must  be  dipped  all  over,  but  not  stay  in 
(with  his  head  above  water)  longer  than  half 
a  minute  if  the  water  is  very  cold.  After  this 
he  must  go  in  three  times  a  week  for  a  fort- 
night longer.  He  must  be  bled  before  he  be- 
gins to  take  the  medicine." 

It  is  very  difficult  to  know  just  what  is  best 
to  do  when  a  person  is  bitten  by  a  mad  dog, 
but  my  own  advice  would  be  to  kill  the  dog. 
After  that  feel  of  the  leg  where  bitten,  and  as- 
certain how  serious  the  injury  has  been.  Then 
go  home  and  put  on  another  pair  of  panta- 

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BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

loons,  throwing  away  those  that  have  been 
lacerated.  Parties  having  but  one  pair  of  pan- 
taloons will  have  to  sequester  themselves  or 
excite  remarks.  Then  take  a  cold  bath,  as 
suggested  above,  but  do  not  remain  in  the 
bath  (with  the  head  above  water)  more  than 
half  an  hour.  If  the  head  is  under  water,  you 
may  remain  in  the  bath  until  the  funeral,  if 
you  think  best. 

When  going  into  the  bath  it  would  be  well 
to  take  something  in  your  pocket  to  bite,  in 
case  the  desire  to  bite  something  should  over- 
come you.  Some  use  a  common  shingle-nail 
for  this  purpose,  while  others  prefer  a  personal 
friend.  In  any  event,  do  not  bite  a  total 
stranger  on  an  empty  stomach.   It  might  make 

you  ill. 

Never  catch  a  dog  by  the  tail  if  he  has  hy- 
drophobia. Although  that  end  of  the  dog  is 
considered  the  most  safe,  you  never  know 
when  a  mad  dog  may  reverse  himself. 

If  you  meet  a  mad  dog  on  the  street,  do  not 
stop  and  try  to  quell  him  with  a  glance  of  the 
eye.  Many  have  tried  to  do  that,  and  it  took 
several  days  to  separate  the  two  and  tell  which 
was  mad  dog  and  which  was  queller. 

The  real  hvdrophdbia  dog  generally  ignore? 

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BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

kindness,  and  devotes  himself  mostly  to  the 
introduction  of  his  justly  celebrated  virus.  A 
good  thing  to  do  on  observing  the  approach 
of  a  mad  dog  is  to  flee,  and  remain  fled  until 
he  has  disappeared. 

Hunting  mad  dogs  in  a  crowded  street  is 
great  sport.  A  young  man  with  a  new  re- 
volver shooting  at  a  mad  dog  is  a  fine  sight. 
He  may  not  kill  the  dog,  but  he  might  shoot 
into  a  covey  of  little  children  and  possibly  get 
one. 

It  would  be  a  good  plan  to  have  a  balloon 
inflated  and  tied  in  the  back  yard  during  the 
season  in  which  mad  dogs  mature,  and  get 
into  it  on  the  approach  of  the  infuriated  ani- 
mal (get  into  the  balloon,  I  mean,  not  the 
dog). 

This  plan  would  not  work  well,  however, 
in  case  a  cyclone  should  come  at  the  same  time. 
When  we  consider  all  the  uncertainties  of  life, 
and  the  danger  from  hydrophobia,  cyclones 
and  breach  of  promise,  it  seems  sometimes  as 
though  the  penitentiary  was  the  only  place 
where  a  man  could  be  absolutely  free  from 
anxiety. 

If  you  discover  that  your  dog  ha^  hydro- 
phobia, it  is  absolutely  fo'oHsh  to  try  to  cui'e 

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BILL  NYE'S  RED  BOOK 

him  of  the  disease.  The  best  plan  is  to  trade 
him  off  at  once  for  anything  you  can  get.  Do 
not  stop  to  haggle  over  the  price,  but  close 
him  right  out  below  cost. 

Do  not  tie  a  tin  can  to  the  tail  of  a  mad  dog. 
It  only  irritates  him,  and  he  might  resent  it 
before  you  get  the  can  tied  on.  A  friend  of 
mine,  who  was  a  practical  joker,  once  sought 
to  tie  a  tin  can  to  the  tail  of  a  mad  dog  on  an 
empty  stomach.  His  widow  still  points  with 
pride  to  the  marks  of  his  teeth  on  the  piano. 
If  mad  dogs  would  confine  themselves  exclu- 
sively to  practical  jokers,  I  would  be  glad  to 
endow  a  home  for  indigent  mad  dogs  out  of 
my  own  private  funds. 


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